There was a TV programme about it presented by that scientist. You know, the one that all the ladies like and who talks in the voice that’s been wrapped in velvet and dipped in chocolate and then vaguely flown up north. The one that was in that band. Him.
Anyway, it wasted an hour, perhaps ironically yet appropriately, making the point that there really is no meaning to such questions. From a mathematical point of view it is pretty hard to separate “now” from the moment just before or just after. That’s what continuous is.
And if you want a date or a day or a year then you can make up your own. Any system is as arbitrary as the next and none of them copes very well with the fact that our measures of time change. The day gets longer or shorter with things such as earthquakes or even with a lot of bad weather. No, it’s true. Look it up on a proper website.
I guess therefore subjectivity is all we have. Here, in the ethereal realm in which The Conduit dwells, it has just become Monday. This has significance to all with a standard working pattern as the working week looms. It matters also to anyone who has to be up early as it is clearly past their bedtime. It matters to anyone who has an appointment or meeting or planned phone call – Monday could be a day of big news and life-changing information. And it matters to Garfield. He’s not a fan.
Now is neither good nor bad yet often seems entirely one or the other. Now is possibly the beginning but probably not the end. Now is transient. Now is gone.
I miss now. I was happy then. I think.