Running Water ... Rusting Pipes Vol. 3: Canada, the Hopeful Years

Time. Ever hear of it? You know, that thing which tick-tacks even when your heart stops; that thing which affects all and is by naught affected; which neither exists independently of man nor would cease to exist in his absence. Time. That's what you're doing. That mysterious element devoid of sound, color, smell, sub-stance, or space, although an integral part of it, traveling on neither waves nor particles, omnipresent yet nonexistent. That's what you're doing. Time. That curious anomaly which alone, in nature's overabundance of cycles, and of all the abstract elements known to man, is absolute in direction and one direction only, with neither turns, nor curves, nor stops, nor speed limits-it even defies speed traps. You're doing time, my friend. That man-made element of a variety of measures such as clocks, calendars, time zones, degrees, lati-tudes, longitudes, years, decades, centuries, milleniums, eons-all these and more, centered on Greenwich and based on natural cycles of the solar system that complement a constant and infinite flow of nothingness, which is as elusive to the old as it is trivial to the young. That's what you're doing, my friend. Time. The slowest and the most potent toxic element extant. You get the idea what you are doing, man?"