5:13 pm, Sunday

I force myself to sit. Amongst the restrictions of a man-made time which has been placed so carelessly upon me, I sit, forcing myself to be natural, and wonder; is force natural? I try, rather effortlessly, to not be ever so particular about the whereabouts of my location, and wonder if I just formed this concept right now. I find myself at a beach somehow, so as to avoid planning, somewhat confused at my purpose, specifically for writing the words I am writing now, and in general. For some reason, I cannot seem to overlook the concept, or idea, or creation, or whatever it may be, of time. I try to avoid it, ignore its insignificantly significant existence, yet find myself- I hear an ominous sound behind; I turn around, nothing anywhere to be found- wanting more of it, or rather, having too little. What can I make of it, time that is? The subject bores me. What I see now, is a lack if time; no, an absence, rather. My eyes have failed me again, for I always seem to observe that, which is inexistent. I hear a sound; I think about it for a brief four to five seconds. It does not seem to hold too great of a significance, not nearly one as great as the ant which, ever so carelessly crawls upon my leg, confused, rushed, yet having nowhere to go. I think that is me. I come to appreciate this silence that I feel, not hear. I hear no silence, for I am surrounded by joyful screaming voices of two Latino children, boys, in the distance, along with the foreign language which the enthusiastic and subtly tired mother utters, all amongst the seemingly endless echoes of waves. The family has an adolescent girl as well; her voice, insignificant, undecipherable from her mothers'. I find the only bearable silence that which can be felt within myself, not heard, for if silence was ever heard, the amplified chaos felt within would drive me to insanity. Four ants on my feet now, and one, isolated within the crevices of my light gray sweater. I lose count; I can only feel them. I ponder on killing the ant; so insignificant of a creature amongst another with such great size. Yet i feel the same of myself, amongst all creation. It is true I think. All are insignificant. This thought does little to bother me; I enjoy it rather. I change my location and face the sun. I am surrounded by flies, grazing upon incoherent masses of some type of ocean grass, if grass can be black, as a rather fit looking couple jogs along the shore. I make the assumption that they had a kale protein smoothie and egg white omelette for breakfast, sans carbs. The ant is back. I was close to killing it as I felt a small pinch between my empty middle and ring fingers. It struggled to regain it's stance after my forceful counterattack; it managed. A middle aged (gray) bearded man walks along the shore. He may be here so as to relax, lower his anger and blood pressure, per the rather demanding requests of his commanding yet respected wife; he may be divorced. 

        The sun seems to be going down. The father of the Latino family joins them, and this inexistent time which I had been amongst, is running out. I smell cigarette smoke. Time is almost over. I get up, I leave. I never killed the ant.