A hiccough in time designed to remind me or just keep me guessing I must assume. Is this a blessing? A boon? A view of my doom? I can't help but wonder if the sound of the thunder is drowned out and under by the tick-tock of clocks rending time asunder. It's the boldest of blunders presuming time has one direction, a common misconception since apes did first achieve erection, tossing a monkeywrench into natural selection. In letting loose the language of lore, why do I feel like I've said it all before?

Eyes turned skyward, restless and tired, tired of waiting for the Heavens to fall that I might call a slice my own. There is no shining, golden throne up there, but just a space and time to sit and there converse upon the shining, golden master of this bit of universe we call home, a place to roam and say we’ve been since monkeys were first made to men. If I could just remember when then I just might remember why a man had first to turn an eye upon the stars and give them names. Perhaps there’s something hidden in those holy father- flames where only gods may stride. I haven’t reached it yet but then perhaps I’ve never tried.