remember his parlor, a veritable museum of clocks ticki
One of my favorite movies is the Rod Taylor version of H.G. Well's novel, The Time Machine. I remember his parlor, a veritable museum of clocks ticking, pendulums swaying and various gongs at every quarter hour. Even as a kid I wondered: when we throw away the clocks and the calendars, when are we? Even now, when I travel between time zones, gaining or losing hours of my life, I catch myself wondering - where is all that time? I can't hold it. I can only use it or sleep through it. So...time travel. What an idea. What if I could pocket all that time to be used later? Fast forward through all the boring parts and re-live the good bits? Or explore times other than my own? On the other hand, it is my very stuck-ness in time that gives my life meaning. It is my context that reveals me as I have to choose every moment how I spend my limited time. And, in the end, I think that's kind of cool.