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iambetadraconisTime's a funny thing, as I've come to know it. After Azkaban, time becomes something that you can't rely on any more the way you once did. Here in my father's old armchair, staring at the yellowing calendar of plants from exotic locals [mother was always fond of plants] that tells me it's April of 1989 even though I know full well it isn't, I'm given time to simply sit and think.
A luxury you get too much of in prison, and not enough of at Milliways.
In Milliways there's not enough time to pause and to reflect and to take stock of all that's happened, nearly happened, and should have happened but didn't. Because in Milliways time is different.
I've been told [by whom I can't remember] that in Milliways a kind of time anomaly exists. One that allows an infinite number of minutes and hours, days and years to pass without so much as a second passing by in the world you originally come from. I believe they called it "nano time" or some such bollocks. I never really listened to them; my mind was, as it invariably is, elsewhere.
Because my mind exists within a time-frame all its own. One influenced by the way time passes in Azkaban.
And so we come full circle, as I continue to look at the calendar that seemed to have developed a sense of amnesia-slash-dementia and believes it April of 1989, and who cares if it's a Monday or a Saturday or some other day of the calendar week?
Which to me is a reflection of myself.
In Azkaban time ceases to have any meaning beyond what your biological clock tells you it is. It no longer matters if it's six o'clock on a Friday night, or if it's New Years or Christmas or even if your birthday's a few days away or came and went three months ago. In Azkaban you sleep when you're tired, you awaken when you're not, and you eat and drink when the need for food and water makes itself known.
In Azkaban you don't care about time, because there's nothing in it to mark the differences in the days that helps people take notice of the calendar day and thus know whether it is a Monday or a Saturday or some other day of the week. In Azkaban you just .... exist.
Not much of a life is it?
And even without the presence of the Dementors one would go mad in such a place. Because without artificial means of taking note of time one begins to live in an almost animal-like state. Animals live only in the endless "now" their minds create. There isn't a "yesterday" and there's no "tomorrow". There isn't even a "five minutes ago" either. There's only a "now".
In Azkaban you develop a kind of atavism where the only thing you think about is the ever present "now". Memories don't matter because the Dementors feed off the good ones, and the bad ones are the ones that give you the nightmares that keep you awake and only dimly remind you that any amount of time has passed at all.
Oddly, such a state of mind suits life at Milliways, with its nano time anomaly and whatnot. In Milliways you can do three dozen things and amazingly, do them all at once, and not have it marvelled at as though you'd just achieved the impossible.
Because it's not impossible. Because everyone does it and no one remarks upon it. Because there's no need to.
I notice that the crack of sunlight has moved across the floor and is now much closer to my feet than it was before. Telling me that, once again, I've forgotten to notice that time's passed, and that it's now close to evening, if the fact that the sunstreak on the floor is a dark orange in colour is an indication.
I should sleep, but I can't.
Even in this house I know sleep's not a luxury I can afford.
I'm not the only one who knows about this place...
But maybe I can catnap...
A luxury you get too much of in prison, and not enough of at Milliways.
In Milliways there's not enough time to pause and to reflect and to take stock of all that's happened, nearly happened, and should have happened but didn't. Because in Milliways time is different.
I've been told [by whom I can't remember] that in Milliways a kind of time anomaly exists. One that allows an infinite number of minutes and hours, days and years to pass without so much as a second passing by in the world you originally come from. I believe they called it "nano time" or some such bollocks. I never really listened to them; my mind was, as it invariably is, elsewhere.
Because my mind exists within a time-frame all its own. One influenced by the way time passes in Azkaban.
And so we come full circle, as I continue to look at the calendar that seemed to have developed a sense of amnesia-slash-dementia and believes it April of 1989, and who cares if it's a Monday or a Saturday or some other day of the calendar week?
Which to me is a reflection of myself.
In Azkaban time ceases to have any meaning beyond what your biological clock tells you it is. It no longer matters if it's six o'clock on a Friday night, or if it's New Years or Christmas or even if your birthday's a few days away or came and went three months ago. In Azkaban you sleep when you're tired, you awaken when you're not, and you eat and drink when the need for food and water makes itself known.
In Azkaban you don't care about time, because there's nothing in it to mark the differences in the days that helps people take notice of the calendar day and thus know whether it is a Monday or a Saturday or some other day of the week. In Azkaban you just .... exist.
Not much of a life is it?
And even without the presence of the Dementors one would go mad in such a place. Because without artificial means of taking note of time one begins to live in an almost animal-like state. Animals live only in the endless "now" their minds create. There isn't a "yesterday" and there's no "tomorrow". There isn't even a "five minutes ago" either. There's only a "now".
In Azkaban you develop a kind of atavism where the only thing you think about is the ever present "now". Memories don't matter because the Dementors feed off the good ones, and the bad ones are the ones that give you the nightmares that keep you awake and only dimly remind you that any amount of time has passed at all.
Oddly, such a state of mind suits life at Milliways, with its nano time anomaly and whatnot. In Milliways you can do three dozen things and amazingly, do them all at once, and not have it marvelled at as though you'd just achieved the impossible.
Because it's not impossible. Because everyone does it and no one remarks upon it. Because there's no need to.
I notice that the crack of sunlight has moved across the floor and is now much closer to my feet than it was before. Telling me that, once again, I've forgotten to notice that time's passed, and that it's now close to evening, if the fact that the sunstreak on the floor is a dark orange in colour is an indication.
I should sleep, but I can't.
Even in this house I know sleep's not a luxury I can afford.
I'm not the only one who knows about this place...
But maybe I can catnap...
