a somewhat sad attempt to describe the variability of time by the adjustment of certain speeds. after several attempts to write something that would flow the way it should. I am giving up. I am giving up to be able to catch some of the thoughts and to push a little needle of sense through them and to align them on that attached string. And certainly at the right speed. My days are really making my brain get some extra folds here and there, and so in the evening, when on my own terms, I am barely able to write anything that could make real sense. Hmm... so I work to buy time. Then I take the time purchased and I invest it in things that others spent some of their very special time on. Then this experience makes me fall back in time on one hand, and yet thrusts me forward in time, or maybe aligns me in some other places in time. Just like that. It is a very strange thing that happens. (Or at least I hope to believe it does.) A giant box brown arrived today. The cut lines on it were drawn on it by hand. "Open here, carefully." I did. I cut very, very carefully, along the sharpie drawn lines. The box eventually opened. Inside was some overkill of packaging material, some thin special catalogues with pictures, and... a giant brown envelope. The tape attached to it had a red piece to be used as one time handle. I tore off the tape... I pulled out a red envelope, also about 25x30 inches or so, sealed inside of its own special waterproof environment. I put the envelope back. I am not even going to peek. I put the giant sturdy envelope between a dresser and a file cabinet. One of the worst places maybe. That's all I can offer for now. The giant envelope has a little hand written marking on it. Muniz #9. I had actually bought #8 originally, but I requested #9, as I think it is a really magical number. I am somehow thrilled. It feels like this is not really for me at all. I just bought something that is not for me. It is for the me who will understand what just happend here some time in the future. I also have another #9. The other #9 is much more precious. It is so precious that I dare not even to think that I took a glimpse at it. (I did.) It is a 9/39... and the magic does not stop there. And it does not begin there... the magic is so much stronger than one dare to think... yes. It is definitely beyond thinking. Way out, out of sight. Traveling through time is really amazing. It is a choice. It is a choice every split second of our being. Time travel might have a clear starting point and a clear final destination, but the variety of possibilities in-between... wow. I tried this very silly experiment again today. I got into the wrong subway car. Not the usual one. Not the one that gets me out of the station as the first guy, who then can go to the grocery store (called blueberry farm btw,) to get some very important fruit or something else. Today I just got into a random car. The doors opened at the right station, except that I was nowhere near an exit. I then slowed down even further. I walked at about half my usual speed. And it is not as easy as it sounds. It is not very hard at first. The difficulty increases with every second. It is worth a try. It can be done with anything. Try to do exactly what you are doing now. At half speed. See how long it is going to be possible to do that without going back to "normal". How many seconds did the experience last? See, that "normal" speed is not that normal at all actally. It is a daring race, it is the skipping of the "less important" stuff, it is that shortcut laden current step in one's development... Eventually our bodies slow down by themselves. Everything does. Things are slow at first and magical, then they speed up, we go as fast as we can... and then the magic catches us again... and we slow down, slower, slower, slower... and then completely new processes begin... Sometimes we happen to be still alive. Certain things have to happen at a certain speed. A cake can not be baked slower than it should be. Or when it is thrown... throwing it at half speed will miss the target for sure... among other things. Certain processes just need their time. Certain things devour time. Certain other activities give birth to time... I think good conversations give birth to time. And good art also gives birth to time... maybe giving birth is the completely wrong picture... good art is probably more like a time generator... and somebody who makes the good kind of art... is a saint... or at least a blessing to us all... I went to see How to Kick People with Todd Levin tonight. I believe. It was, so I believe, quite excellent, again... brilliant. And I will go again next month. Except maybe then I am going to go in person. Dependent on the theme of the evening, of course. So yes, I am giving up writing, coherent writing at least. I also tried to draw today and it was really very sad. I barely managed to stay on the line. And I will end this post now. And I do not recommend that anyone read it at half speed. I read it at an even slower speed while writing it (I am a slow typer,) and I do not think that this particular one is worth being read slowly... how about a previous one or one on a different site? Or maybe one in a book, written hundreds of years ago?... somewhere very far away... or not very far away at all. (because, how else would that ever work?)