Time goes on and on and on!
Who could take them all?
And why should we worry about them?
Hell, I can’t keep up with my own history.
Oh, I know what happened, and all that, and all that, but when I look at the bank balance of the past fifty years, I’m over it.
You see, nobody seems to care.
“You’ve been on planet Earth for fifty years, haven’t you?”
Yeah, and it seems like it, and it sure was different back in 1965.
But even though I’m younger than most of the people around here, nobody wants to talk about my “status.”
“Are you still with your husband?”
“I’m married, but separated.”
Forget about anyone else, least of all me.
And I’m tired of waiting.
People talk about TIME being defined by time, but who talks about the speed of time?
TIME was defined in 1965.
No more now.
I’m at war with time.
I love standing still.
Time won’t even give me a chance.
It’s out to keep me warm.
Still, who can hate a creature that freezes in the face of indifference?
You, the time, you, the frozen times of wanton immobility.
You, the easy-going observers, you, all of us, what are you really doing here?
And why you would want to.
I want you to speak to time.
And this is one place where I’m willing to listen.
The Queen’s ice cream parlor, call me ladies and gentlemen.
Time is frozen, and I’ll be there until the final book’s finished.