Thesis:

I am pondering the soul of literature
Reading a country, a season, a culture
Without mentioning obvious time and space
Yet, one could sense from fragments, the place


I think it extends far beyond forensic, linguistics
And repeated symbols, flora, fauna, the stylistics:

I

‘The long sullen days, warm with familiar melancholy‘
‘The lone man strides across the loft streets of sheer folly’
‘Trivial, yet, out of place, in this pointlessly quickening race’
‘He vanishes into the pallid, gone without a trace.’


II

‘Blushing petals rush shyly to embrace’
‘Mirror of the river, and root of wizened trees’
‘All are quiet under the wind, as the poet reads.’
‘When he looks up, time has wasted away’
’Where, among nothing, is the way?‘

III

‘The earth is rigid with the chill of withering grace’
‘And the castle has put on a cloak of dark gray’
‘Against the window, the woman with a solemn face’
‘Sheds her soul as each yellow leaf falls and fades’

IV

‘In the yellow and red, the artist paints away’
‘So blue was the heavens, stunning and dazed’
‘It must have filled his whole being with light rays’
‘For in his image, forever swim brilliant cerulean waves’

Conclusion:

Nary a clear allusion to a self-evident time and space
But a story, a feeling, a living place, your mind shapes
As if awoken in a dream, in a void, and lost in a maze
The essence slowly forms and quickly finds the way
Till it builds itself true, but forever unable to be reached
As if unrequited lovers separated by a looking glass,
Ever to face each other, but never able to embrace.

The Death of Time: Chronothánatos

✼✻✻

Time in each realm is a ‘living entity’

The collective consciousness

Branching into streams for each being

Or rather, each SOUL


For it is TIME

The consciousness  

The awareness of change

Atrophy, ‘death’ and ultimately loss

That binds us to Envy, Fear, Grief

And

Even Desires for possession


What remains is the eternal

The everlasting

Love without loss

Hope without fear


In Etahphh, the entity of time

As cliche as it is, is

Literally a river

And the streams of consciousness

Literally streams


Perhaps

It would be far more interesting

For us explore the planet Tarphah

Where the whole realm itself

Is a gargantuan elastic fabric

And it is in itself

Time, space and

All of its living souls


Or the perpetual

Self-devouring serpent

Of the Twin Neutron Stars

Where time and all events

Are in eternal repetition


But those are for another day

For time is dying in Etahphh

The eight side diamond shaped

Sandy planet of golden palaces

And crystal blue

River of Time and

Streams of Consciousness


Situated between a Spinning Black Hole

And two colliding neutron stars

Etahphh, where, as it spins

Time is being pulled towards

Either the Night of the Black Hole

Or Day of the Twin Stars

Is about to undergo

Chronothánatos

Or

The Great Sleep of Time

And Consciousness


The measurement of time

Is rather like the measurement

Of the length of the river itself:

Being divided into fixed increments

You’d expect it to take the same amount

Of time through each circulation


But the flow is never consistent

And more importantly

The viscosity is changing

Time is slowing down

And the planet is getting hotter


For the land roamers of this realm

This means a great change is coming

Though change has been in effect

Since The Great Flood, also known as

The Birth of Time


For in the Olden Days, it seemed like

The ancestors lived forever, or at least

Much, much longer

In reality

It is rather that time used to flow

Much, much quicker

And each Sigh, or each increment

Passed in at least tenth of the present

Speed

While aging remained the same pace


In the same breath or meter of time

The same generation lived,

In the past, through a thousand sighs

Or a thousand waves

And in the present, as the flow slowed,

Through only a hundred


To the rich and powerful

And creatures beneath the waves

The direction and speed of the flow

Matter much less than to those

Without vessels, or the ability to

Wade and swim freely through the waves


However, that is only if the waves does flow

What happens when the ‘Chronothánatos“

Does finally occur?


Does everything stand still?

Even aging and atrophy?

But surely, not the subconscious, the soul

And since sand must return to sand

Does that happen the moment of thánatos?

And are we therefore instantly released from

Our ****** confinement?

Do we roam free as spectres in a waking dream?

Without temporal consciousness,

What remains of thoughts?


It might still be unfathomable

For beings confined to travel

Linearly in spacetime

Some no matter what direction

Or speed

To truly grasp the reality

Of an existence of

What would seem like

All that would happen

Would happen all at the same instant

The same exact indivisible moment

Much like life on the planet of

Phahrah, where all of its history

Happen in a single moment

Ever closer to eternity for its citizens

But next to nonexistent

For distant observers:

In the moment

Its whole cradle Nebula

Was destroyed and swallowed

By a gigantic black hole-The Thánatos-

Life was created

As it’s waters dispersed

And land was slowly exposed


For the powerless among us

The freedom of pure soul

Its twinges of love and joy

Without loss, without pain

Is ever freeing and welcoming

And as the planet is becoming

Hotter and hotter

The Death of Time seems like

The perfect paradise

But for the Rich and Powerful

Who has for countless generations

Used observers and other means

To ensure their life is lived to the

Most prosperous outcome

Being so powerful for a long time

Is perhaps more tempting than

Being eternally powerless


They might be able to set up

Minions at fixed points in

History of the Present, Past, and Future

To ensure all possible outcome

Of each action is reported back to all

Previous points no matter what

Can they be so powerful to

Stop, rather in this case

Revive Time itself?


✼✻✻

STILLWATERS OF INCONSEQUENTIAL EVENTS

✼✻✻

How convenient it is that

Time is a river and there are

Stillwaters of inconsequential events


The general plan is thus:

To use ‘unused’ time

To prolong time

To use wasted water

To replenish the rivers

And continue and repeat

Forever forward

And so

The observers became gathers

And unworthy streams

Will make its sacrifice for the

Greater good

But the lever of the Time Reserve

Was not to be pulled until

The very last moment

And the most ruthless of

The Clockwork Regime

Is set to pull it

For even lives barely lived

Still lived

And death is always unwanted

By the sufferer

And any measure to prolong

The Status Quo when there is

Hope for a much much more desirable

Existence

Is always met with

Rebellion

✼✻✻

THE REBEL’S PLAN

✼✻✻

How do you rebel against

Those who could see through

All of time, albeit through

The Gathering Observers

Their minions at hand?

They must be the key

These Reporters of Time

Surely not everyone of them

Is as devoted as the rest

And surely, not all of the

Rich and powerful

Is against this welcoming

Salvation?


Elimination of all of them

Is not only impossible

But also impossibly cruel


Just certain calculated altering

Of pinpoint events could in theory

Alter the course of that one specific

Event, even if ever so slightly


Only a thought need be erased

Or even just unnoticeably delayed

By just one indivisible moment

To end their reign of eternity

And let time meet its natural end


In a world where if there is

No one coming back in time

To stop you is a literal

Indication of everything

Going exactly as it should be

Perhaps, just a confused distraction

Is enough to terminate a timed action


We could find points in history

Where by slightly altering

The outcome of certain elections

We could end up exchanging

One key decision maker for the other

From one for the Revival

To one for the Death


Or a simpler and more likely

Solution:

We just need a rogue agent

To delay the inevitable revival

By one second, or just, again

By one indivisible moment

Beyond the point of no return


The seed, the idea of his betrayal

Must be planted at birth

Unbeknownst to even himself

By people’s subtle mentions

All throughout his life

Till his final act is without premonition

And completely sudden and unstoppable


Out of

Perhaps, yes, wrath of revenge?


The one to pull the lever

Will not be without enemies

So our hero must be close to

One of his previous victims

Take heed of the target’s every word

Especially his very last

For that will be the Trigger:

Our hero's very first word

And

His love’s very last word

For revenge must be buried

Deep in his heart

✼✻✻

ERAHKHU : REBIRTH

✼✻✻

Rebirth, Erahkhu

The General’s last word was

Echoed through the Time Reserve

And entered into Erahkhu’s

Stream of consciousness


It became his first thought

It became his first word

It became his name


Erahkhu loved Thaehrah

And when she was killed

By a bandit within the rebels

It became her last word

As falling into the river

She called out to him


Erahkhu thought he was

Destined to help revive

And rebirth the dying

River of time

As did the General

For it was he who ordered

The killing of Thaehrah

To ensure Erahkhu left

His home at the riverside

To become the destined

Final observer and witness

As witnessed and observed

By Reporters of his time


But as the General’s last words

To begin the rebirth echoed

In unison with the voice

In his stream of consciousness

As it did when he was born

As it did when she died


Erahkhu’s last indivisible moment

Was never intended for birth

Or Rebirth of any kind-

It was the General’s last word

It was our hero’s first word

It was his love’s last word-

So it was to ensure death

The death of the General

And the death of time

Perhaps, without it

Without prolonging of life

They may once again

Reunite

✼✻✻

THE GHOSTS OF ENNUI

✼✻✻

We succeeded and time died

But we were not reborn as

Timeless beings

Or reunited with our ancestors

Or Erahkhu with the love of his life

In that better kingdom

We can now faintly see

But never reach

Where Thaehrah and the General

Reside


We are destined to roam forever

As aimless spectres, for we never

Crossed the threshold of True death

But became The Ghosts of Ennui

Our home was eventually plundered

Turned to ruins and then finally

Taken over by a nautical race of

Time creatures in the shape of waters

And in effect, ironically, revived the river

The River of Time