Constructions in Time

It's about how we understand time passing. We have the arrow of time: the measure of an increasing force of entropy, the slow passing of moments and the constriction of freedom, just like a chess board. A complexity of 10 to the 123rd power gets wittled down, each move consigning each player to fewer and fewer choices.

We decide ourselves in the same way, our freedom of movement growing smaller and smaller until we are patterns, automatons whose only remaining move is to die.

We repeat our actions, call it personality. We consign ourselves to the dustbin of psychohistory, we become our own explanation. We lose our inscrutability.

Did you know that I haven't ever really fallen out of love? Not that I've fallen in love so many times as to leave a bevy of unfulfilled desires in the back of my mind, but that I don't know how one switches it off- I don't know where they go, these loves that once were; mine linger and stink up the place.

All I want is freedom of motion- and the opportunity for my actions to be those of an inscrutable agent- and I don't see either of those things happening in this world.

I want something new, and I won't stop being a complete jackass until I find it.