Dante's pic of her best friend, Stephanie, trying on her new bikini.
As I lay in bed in the morning, right before getting up and making my breakfast, I often have new ideas for the day. Insights, intuitions, concepts - whatever you want to call them.
This struck me a few moments ago:
The past isn't so much a matter of time, but rather of values. Our dreams turn the present into the past. More than days, years, or decades. When a good situation goes bad, then it immediately changes from present to past.
Or when the attractive is suddenly viewed as ugly, that will automatically turn now into then, or here into there. This can happen outside every length of clock time. It can be a matter of seconds, or fifty years.
You might feel nostalgia for your old hometown, but if you revisit the place, and see a once beautiful garden overrun with weeds, the memory is altered forever. The beloved image is replaced by a darker version. Living becomes dying, and the past really is past.
When you no longer feel like having sex with someone you are instantly plunged into the past. Day becomes night, with a thud.
The essence of time isn't measurement of motion, but rather the significance of this motion.