• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 12

Done in a cubist style

Life is multi-faceted, personalities and its places. She said, “time always seems to go slower when you want it to go fast and faster when you would like the clock to stop”. They say a watched pot never boils; the last minute on the clocking off machine seems to be more like five. Time is a dimension we cannot see, smell, hear, taste or touch, we question whether or not it exists at all. We measure it, but even this may be a falsehood, are not seconds, minutes, and hours, a construct?

All we really have is day and night, and the changing seasons. The stars shift about from our point of view and over thousands of years. The comet Hale-Bopp graced us with an appearance nearly twenty years ago now, visible with the naked eye, last seen when the ancient Egyptians ruled the then known world, a time of sphinx’s and battle shields and at the same time Stonehenge was under construction.

There she was in the spring of ’97 glimpsing at an object that will not return again for 4000 years, how very existential she must have felt at the time. It was the spring then, and nineteen October’s later, a whole evolution of daffodils have flowered and disappeared.


Done in a cubist style

Nothing is permanent, everything has a lifespan, a shelf life, in time the pyramids will be dust once more. Marriage vows are lucky now to last a little over ten years in an age of mass communication and social media. Whereas in the past you stayed in your little town, in and around the same people, the chance meeting and heart racing was kept to a minimum. Today you see people you desire every day and the ability to communicate with them is made easy by technology, be it someone in a foreign place or an old school friend, her first love. Maybe commitment is irrelevant now and marriage is dead.

It has always frustrated her, the passing of time, the lines show now but she feels the same. She still has the same sense of humour, satirical in style with a touch of anarchy for good measure. She sends one last message and glances at her newsfeed at some piece of artwork, a painting; it somehow looks familiar but is also different and done in a cubist style.