“For never-resting time leads summer on…”

Erik Calonius, “…Subway Car” (1973)

Time — yet not the time told by the station clock, moving with a jerk five minutes at once, but rather, the time of a tiny timepiece, the hand of which one cannot see move, or the time the grass keeps when it grows, so unobservably one would say it does not grow at all, until some morning the fact is undeniable — time, a line composed of a succession of dimensionless points…time, we say, had gone on, in its furtive, unobservable, competent way, bringing about changes…

The Magic Mountain (Tr. Lowe-Porter)


I’m Turning Around

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