Time

time

Prospero, what is time?

(As if anyone would ask such a cosmological question of a madman!)

Time, my friend (wink, wink), is something that eccentric Spaniards paint.

[Now I really must interject. These sorts of aphoristic statements were fine for cinéaste Robert Bresson, but are no longer in vogue, even in today’s film industry, for present day film directors are, in the main, wholly unaccustomed to the rigors of thought. And Prospero is probably referring to Salvador Dali’s malleable clocks in The Persistence of Memory. But obscurantism is also passé, and there is little hope, I suppose, for those in exile who hollowly hark back to the days of old, have a fitful fascination for French film directors, and use with frustrating frequency words that have tiptoed, under cover of an umbrageous linguistic hinterland, from one language to another. Ed.]

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9 Comments

  1. 😀😀I dance with joy upon your arrival…mayhaps it’s the essence of time 😊

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  2. And might I add that the flowers have a certain something that is singularly joyful and yet poignant… Could that be so? ❤❤

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    • Yes, it could be so (as anything is possible). The flower cluster (inflorescence) is, incidentally, the umbel of an onion: cosmic, joyful, poignant.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. The beauty of the flower forces the question, as do Dali’s oozing watches and clocks. And vogue? What is a vogue anyway. I may have seen one, but it seemed a phantasmagorical kind of boat to carry those who were “in” safely away from those they hoped would drown by being “out”. I am no afficionada of artful cinema, and do confess to have modulated out of the major keys of both Jesuitism and Jansenism, but Bresson has swum to his own island where he thrives, deservedly, in my estimation, and continues to seriously affect, exiled or not.

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    • Luckily my exile is tame, a mere venture to relocate to a sunnier clime, compared to Bresson’s exile in 1999, when he took the irreversible gambit of submitting to gentle repose on gossamer clouds in the company of trumpeting angels.

      Venture: yes, indeed a play on words as it was the Sea Venture that wrecked on these shores all those years ago…

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  4. i was just contemplating this quote for my blog (for a future post, that i might make sometime, that is – she adores vagueness, as he already knows). and lo and behold, i come here and find (impossible) questions about time and witty-wink-wink remarks about eccentric spaniards (the author of my quote, Carlos Fuente, is mexican, but still… he wrote in spanish, so the celebration of coincidences may continue 🙂

    “You don’t look at your watch again, that useless object tediously measuring time in accordance with human vanity, those little hands marking out the long hours that were invented to disguise the real passage of time, which races with a mortal and insolent swiftness no clock could ever measure.”

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  5. He may be mad, but madness never precludes clairvoyance.

    (and thus, a celebration of coincidences was foreseen.)

    (are you impressed?)

    (and by the way, what time is it? The gates of the sanatorium close at 11 pm and the impertinent Spanish staff prides itself on the punctuality of its house guests. )

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  6. Sometimes, it gets mighty lonely out here. But then, every once in a while, in the comment section of an exiled madman’s blog, one realizes loneliness, like time itself, is only an illusion, just another state of mind.

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    • I hope you are soon settling in to your new abode, as being newly resettled is itself a little like madness. So is loneliness. Still, those crazy Spaniards. What will they think of next–melting or weltering waves? Dali got his idea for the runny clocks from observing a piece of camembert melting in the sun. I think he should have spent the day at the beach instead–then his clocks might simply have been waterlogged or corroded by the salt. The moral of the story is to keep surrealistic painters away from French cheesy commestibiles rendered incommestibile by the hot sun.

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