This is the time of year when we think a lot about time: its passage, how much we have left, what have we done with it, how much we let get away, and what comes next. During this time of the year, time becomes a commodity; The Past gets packaged up and defined; The Future gets readied for consumption. 

Or perhaps, you may see yourself living on an island devoid of time entirely, baffled by it all—as depicted in the lyrics from the Talking Heads song, "Once in a Lifetime."

… And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack

And you may find yourself in another part of the world

And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile

And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife

And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?

Cambridge, England: How to Say “Time Eater” in Greek

I had just stumbled out of The Eagle—a bar across the street—where we had consumed a few pints of beer (the brand of which was aptly named “DNA;” the miracle that Cambridge professors discovered and announced to fellow beer-guzzling patrons at this very bar in 1953). That’s when I saw it, located across the street from Kings College in Cambridge, on Trumpington Street. 

It’s called “The Corpus Clock.” It has no hands or symbols, but one knows almost immediately that it is indeed a clock. But what really caught my attention was the grasshopper that sits atop the clock. The financier of the project called this grasshopper, “The Chronophage,” Greek for “time-eater.” Cambridge students have their own name for it: Rosalind. It makes an eerie grinding sound as the clock ticks, blinks with “satisfaction,” and even moves its mouth as time passes—seeming to eat.

You can’t make this stuff up, folks! 

So, what is it about this clock? It’s the notion, that time—OUR time—is being consumed by a giant insect.

I’d always considered time to be something that passes by us, under us, through us—but never something that served as insect food.  

The image of such a thing cultivates a feeling of helplessness; That we are not masters of time, but rather, time is the kibble for something else—bigger, more primitive, more uncaring.  

Just Killing a Little Time at Prada Marfa

One of my family members once shared this story with me. They were passing through Marfa, TX, on a cross-desert trip to California, and decided early one morning to stop at the iconic Prada Marfa.

The shop is a very clever and somewhat mysterious art installation out in the middle of nowhere. It’s designed to elicit the response, “what the hell is that, and what is it doing HERE?” and, "what does it MEAN?”  

…Much like the Cambridge Chronophage. 

… And you may ask yourself, "How do I work this?"

And you may ask yourself, "Where is that large automobile?"

And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful house"

And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful wife” 

It was just before dawn, but still dark. They pulled up and parked in front of the deserted, but well-lit shop, replete with expensive designer footwear in the window.  They must’ve been the only people within a 50-mile radius. 

So, they took their time and did what I suppose everybody else does at the Prada Marfa: They stared at the shop and tried to make sense of something that must have been created to remind us that some things just don’t make a lick of sense.  

After a short while, they got back in the car and prepared to depart. It was then that they noticed several jackrabbits milling around the car. No big deal, jackrabbits are nuisances, but not dangerous.  

However, as they turned on the headlights, the highway ahead was filled with thousands, no, TENS of thousands of jackrabbits.

In the time it took to park and view the unknowable icon that is Prada Marfa, their tiny spec of the desert had turned into a sea of jackrabbits. This is not my beautiful Prada Marfa in the middle of nowhere; It’s jackrabbit hell!

Time, like the jackrabbits, had overtaken them. They feared that they might be unable to drive lest they run them over. They had to make a decision fast, or they might be trapped. Had they fallen victim to a fixed point in time, space, and circumstance? Was this moment about to consume them, like the giant insect that consumes time?

As it turned out—NO!. They’d decided to drive on, and you know what? The jackrabbits were all perfectly capable of getting out of the way. None (that they knew of, or would admit to) were squashed. 

They made it to their destination just in time for dinner. I am told they had a wonderful roasted leg of rabbit that evening, accompanied by fava beans and a nice Chianti. 

During the waning days of one year, and the infant days of each new year, I can't help but think of time. Much as we all might do, I reminisce about the past year and try to make some sense of it. 

Current Location, 2023

2022 feels like staring at Prada Marfa in the desert. What did 2022 mean? What should I take from it? Maybe it’s just that not everything needs to make complete sense.  

Now, it's finally 2023. I make my plans, firmly adopt my resolutions, and promise myself to do it better this time. I package and commoditize.  

Then the jackrabbits start to gather. I wonder which ones will get squashed under the wheels of my so-called "progress." But is this all just a big waste of time? Maybe it’s ME that is that giant insect atop the clock consuming time??

Irrespective of any doubts, I always speed off down the highway of each and every year. 
So far, not much has been squashed (that I know of, or care to admit). Perhaps time is not like 10,000 jackrabbits nor is it a giant time-eating insect. Rather, it’s more like flowing water: ever-present, never-ending, silent, buoying our passage. Maybe, as the Talking Heads say, we should allow ourselves to "let the days go by." That’s just what I think I’ll do, and I seriously consider you do the same. Happy New Year, y'all!

Letting the days go by (Let the water hold me down)

Letting the days go by (Water flowing underground)

Into the blue again (Into the silent water)

Under the rocks and stones (There is water underground)

Letting the days go by (Let the water hold me down)

Letting the days go by (Water flowing underground)

Into the blue again (After the money's gone)

Once in a lifetime (Water flowing underground)

Time isn't holding up. Time isn't after us

Same as it ever was. The same as it ever was