I wrote this post on April 11, 2008 on the one year anniversary of Vonnegut’s death. It was a rambling ode to his works, his teachings and the lasting impression he had on a generation . . . and a dude named me.
Time is hopelessness. Time is mortality’s scratch. Time is inconvenience. Time is sediment. Time is a sleepless current. Time births, and it kills; within the same whispered syllable. Time carries a sweaty mad handshake. Time is voracious. Time is swollen blankness. Time rapes. Time abandons.
Time owns. Everything.
Time is parent to menacing fate and romantic destiny. Time is indifferent to the empty rooms as yet unfilled with pictures and carpentry and books and music and magnificent yard sale finds and rugs to curl your toes around.
Time doesn’t know what give means. Because give means smile and bend and sway. And time simply concerns itself with the taking. Time simply steals everything around it. Without remorse, without discussion, without flinch.
There’s time enough for nothing. So take chances. Hard, fat ones. Punch those chances with everything your guts can muster. Because those chances are borrowed time. And time isn’t well versed in the subtleties of understanding and patience.
But there is hope in the chance taken. And not for its seeming utility in the black and white of success or failure, but for its undertaking and only that. Too soon from now, no one remembers the wins and losses. But maybe they’ll remember the punch thrown. And if not, who cares? Because when you’re sand, you’ll have given time a fight. And it’s your place inside the moments not given, but earned, which tells your story.
Chances are precious yawns which I have oftentimes quelled out of ill prescribed necessity. I’ve masked my fear of the thatched brush of chance’s path with an arrogance borne of wellness and good fortune. I was drunk when I should have been sober and sober when I should have been drunk.
Problem is, time still died. Chances still hung in disparate regiments, orphaned by the frost of obsolescence. And to think, I took chances with the hardest hurt behind them but wavered on the ones connected to algebra.
Isn’t that the thing? I should have known this all along. I let time get in the way of chances, when it really should have been the other way around.
I have this time and chance thing all sketchy.
I am a silly man.