Imagine the endless worry of the machine.
And then imagine more. Imagine until you understand. Imagine all. Imagine unlimited torrents. Imagine all else. Time is consumed. The endless torrent of narratives swarms the mind. It is perhaps all self-inflicted. The architecture of the narrative rarely matters. Is is there. The foundations are culturally constructed, and sometimes all else entirely. The beginning is not clear.
The literature of time reinvents nothing but the condition. The condition is of mind. The mind creates the becoming. The becoming is the clouding of clarity. It is the shrouding of Being.