Life grows around us like a skin, to shut away the outer desolation. For if we clearly mark the furthest deep, and stare with hot, hollow sockets we should be dead long years before the grave. But turning around within the homely shell of worry, discontent, a narrow joy appears. We grow and flourish and rarely see the outside dark that would confound our eyes. Some break the shell. I think that there are those who push their fingers through the brittle walls and make a hole. Through this cruel slit, they stare out across the cinders of the world with naked eyes and play themselves against the many-armed envy, the cautiously optimistic lifestyle that persistently waits for one of us to slip up, at which point life opens up beneath us, a grave maw that devours you whole, spitting out your flesh form like an owl, while digesting your soul and free will.
knowing themselves, and too much else beside, these soulless acid-fuelled machines of brain they can derive the truth of time and space. the only thing wrong with the present, is that according to messers heisenberg and and schroedinger, the bastard doesn't exist because the present is the future and the future is the past, and it's all the same bag of bones anyway. We can't observe the future until it becomes the present, and the past we cannot observe at all - We can reflect on recorded observations, but they too, are a single-sided argument in the quantum debate that only represent one possible timstream and situation. So until we do, it's both past and future, and the present is only the monodimensional resolution of this whole tangled mess. The present is just the simplest and crudest way of observing the change in entropy over the span of the reaction - Which is a bit of a shitfight in itself, given our total inability to measure this change. it's a constant process of coming into being, and passing away. The future is now, the past doesn't exist and the rpesent is the lie we wrap ourselves in so we don't have to try to predict what's coming up next.