Once as a small child, I spent an entire day with my head under a pillow, staring meekly out through a tiny opening in my shield, at a patch of wallpaper. For hours on end that wallpaper was my world, the sun rose and set on my reality and the day passed before my eyes in an area no larger than your palm. I dreamt of entire populations living horizontally, foolish and blind to their predicament, in the tiny crevices of the wall. Never has a wallcovering been as intricately explored as during those slow passing minutes.

All existence fleetingly compressed into a meaningless afternoon hiding in my bedding. The trouble lies in the relation between us and the ugly secrets hidden. The relation between time and the complex structures of our brains. Coordinate t moving constantly in a positive direction with all of us tied and married to it. We're not the blushing bride, we're the dented cans and just as outdated. Time is a problem. Time is my enemy. Time is charlie out there in the trees, the highway bandit around the corner, the asteroid swinging towards us in it's orbit. Time is money.

Outlaw Time.