Killing Time

I’ve never bothered to ask where I come from. I'm probably the most bored person you'll ever meet. Someone told me that people get bored because of a body produced enzyme that is created when you have fun. Time flies. I think it’s similar to adrenaline, but instead of that kill rush, time flies. My theory on boredom is that everytime a clock is looked at, time slows down just a little bit. If you stare at the clock for too long, you realize that time is real. I watch clocks. That's normally what I do at home or when I need to think. When I start to stare into a clock, I feel as if I am watching some sort of Olympic sprint. The skin of each runner is so tightly wrapped around the muscles of their legs that you can make out each tendon. Try and imagine the thigh and calf stretching out with each stride. They pull upon each other like the taffy machines did back when I was a kid standing outside of the candy store. They look as if at any moment in time, they could just snap. And then It happens. The muscles snap. The taffy is ruined. The taffy maker gets fired. Then zoomed out on the runner. He just falls to the ground. He stops dead in his tracks. Just a small slide. The tire stops him from a long skid. Blood starts seeping into the ground up bits of tire that make up the track. The second ticker just stops. It's like time is slowing down. Time doesn't fly.

I've been debating whether I should get rid of all the clocks in my house or not. If I did that, time wouldn't exist for me. If there was no way for me to look at a clock, I would be in a constant time break. Years would not exist. The word month is no longer part of my language. Weeks can say goodbye because what is a week if time doesn't exist. Days disappeared. Minutes are meaningless. The only period in time I would ever feel again is that one second when I threw away the last fucking clock. The moment I can't hear the fucking ticking. But this would also mean I can't leave my house in fear of that one clock I'd see when I go to the gas station or corner drug store. It makes sense now that, I, the normal American dreamer, was meant to be bored. Nothing can fix it. Only when every single clock is destroyed and people forget what time it is, what day it is, what week or month or year it is can boredom stop. This is the loss of organization. Imagine a world in complete disorganization. Chaos. Nobody to work, nobody to butcher cows for food. No nothing. I would kill time itself. Tempus fugit.

I can't hear her scream any more. That stupid bitch was always screaming. Ticking. I could never stand it. It just made time slow down even more. Then I shot her in the fucking face. She would have bled. Their would have been blood stains all over the place. Luckily for myself, there is just pieces of the clock all over the place. The Bonnie Situation all over again. Every morning at 6:05 I'd wake up to that scream followed by the slow tick. I get dressed in dirty clothes because I can't afford to pay my water or electricity bills. Today, there is a coffee stain near the bottom of my white collar, t-shirt snd Sweat stains in the armpit. My job isn't even that demanding to make me sweat. I sit in an office drinking coffee and moniter the stock market. I don't know much about the stock market though. In this day and age, all you need to get through life is a degree. I have a degree in philosophy. That really doesn't sound like it qualifies me as a buisness man or stock trader but I can't complain.