II: The True Freedom – Time [Lull]

I: The True Freedom – Memory [Lull]


The innocent and the beautiful
Have no enemy but time…

-W. B. Yeats


Terrible! – a terrible loss. Oh, each

passing day weighs down my figure,

And each falling grain from one teardrop of

the Hourglass to the other,

And each waltzing shadow distorting itself

on the face of the Sundail,

And each shallow breath she sighs that

counts the seconds out of reach,

All count – count towards our pure endlessness.

We must dispose of time.


This modern strictness, a concept intangible,

Is no more than a mere and incurable sickness,

Which no man tries to fight. Raising the

scalpel high, you remove the defective tissue,

But you do not move the defective time. This

walking corpse, this living carcass, do they

all fool themselves this way? Pretending that time,

In its terrible glory, is on their side, an ally.

Oh, rue this day, time. You shall not lay your gnarled

hand on my sister’s shoulder.


I lay mine.

Her breath is under my palm, and a singular second of

serenity enters. A calmness. A stillness. But not

for long. I will go, I will destroy time. No matter how

much I want time to catch me, for my sister, that elegance

hidden beneath the gas mask and funnel of hair,

Her face must remain china. Remain porcelain.


So tempt me. So hurt it. So hurt time, self, hurt it.

As it hurt me, as I destroyed all memory. Memory of her

little girl figure is merely an imagination. What colour

were her shoes? Memory – gone. Time – ruin it.

I travel within to the farthest reaches of the sun,

Over continents and oceans, never stepping through the shade,

Time must not pass. If I keep forcing myself, if I keep moving,

If I never stop and carry my sister though, we will never

change, she will never change, I will never

change. And serene blissful pastimes will be lost in imagination

as our memories fade every after-second. Without time, without

time, no seconds will pass.

Every stolen night will stand still.

Every figure,


In their own serene blissfulness, and perhaps,

When I ruin the destroyer of temples,

And burn the catcher of life,

And trap the conceited seasons behind,

I can smile, and smile genuinely,

when I look, for an unwritten eternity,

into my sister’s eyes.


III: The True Freedom – Need [Lull]

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