A half life away

Half way through the month that takes us half way through the year and time’s half lives race by in supersonic motion. The thing about supersonic motion is that the sound can’t keep up with you, and time is the same – the way it flies. It is gone the moment it is noticed and no moment can be grasped. It is all a memory.

I can talk of this, now, but what I am really talking of is that, then. It is impossible to talk of now, for the moment the first utterance is made, that moment is gone. And that is what makes this moment so amazing and every new moment a mystery: it is impossible to describe or define as it slides on by.

It is also what makes every ‘I am’ a lie. How can I know what or who I am in this moment? The truth is closer to ‘I was’ or ‘I could be’, and nor is there ever enough evidence to support either of these claims. We are still discussing a collection of indescribable, indefinable instants. It is all a lie, a story.

It is said the truth is stranger than fiction, but it’s not. What we would call the truth is fiction.