Capture it. Contain it. Mold it. Don't let it define you.
So I just finished toward the end of time by John Updike. It shows you how fickle and how dreary time is as a concept. Literature and film do this to us. The worlds and setting uproots us from our daily lives and lodges us in a fantasy. We create our own time by creating worlds overflowing with time. There are some movies that create this so starkly, I am left in awe, feeling a void in my stomach trying to calculate the emotional roller coaster of a lifetime slotted into a two-hour film or 200 page novels. Recently I rewatched The Great Gatsby and A League of Their Own, both which end with me in this reverie of the character’s life. Time is relative for writers, for creators, for believers. And it will always shock and awe us, no matter how many devices we create to keep time, it slips past impervious to technology and human desire. Time is now.
Capture it. Contain it. Mold it. Don't let it define you.
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AuthorCorrie Thompson is a writer, blogger, avid reader, and photographer. Follow her poetry on instagram: @mis.underwood Archives
July 2023
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