Caught between work, the bar and bed, I realize time, this moment, is not a friend. You know how certain people are always waiting for you to fuck up. That’s time, when you’re not very careful: Not so much a fuck buddy as Buddy Holly’s last airplane ride.
Anyway, let’s talk time - and let’s start with Leonard again:
“It’s four in the morning, the end of december
I’m writing you now just to see if you’re better
New York is cold, but I like where I’m living
There’s music on Clinton Street all through the evening.
I hear that you’re building your little house deep in the desert
You’re living for nothing now, I hope you’re keeping some kind of record.”
Or, you can say, like Bowie, that
“Time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth
You pull on your finger, then another finger, then your cigarette
The wall-to-wall is calling, it lingers, then you forget”
Still, maybe it is better to go with Jim Groce’s
“If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that Id like to do
Is to save every day
Till eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you”
… but only if sung by Kermit and Co:
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