Clock.

There's black writing on the face of the clock. Big, bold. But they don't seem very important anymore.

The ticking sound, that dry, monotonous ticking down, does not instill any urgency in the youthful heart. Time is squandered, and it flows like spilled wine, precious and red, over the coins that are spilled. Some spending here, some spending there.

Next, time reminds you that it still has a hold on your body, and mortality creeps behind you, distant at first, lingering by the weeping willows and scraping oaks, then approaching ever closer. You can smell his breath as it curls round your head, fingers of it, then reach up your nostrils.

Father time shakes his head. "Oh, my son. You've learned so much and gained so little. Learned so little and have so much."

Will the experiment be a failure?

Of Romance Relationships and Love (The plastic and the real roses)

I've seen and heard both sides of the coin, and they both make me sick. I despise their cruelty and their foolishness. I try not to despise the people. Bleeding heart sometimes, I guess. One side takes and lies and makes bogus promises, the other clings to the lying side because of - I wonder? - those tiny kernels of hidden insecurities, non-satisfaction with the person looking in the mirror, the Kay Jewelrers and romance movie pressure to be in a relationship weighing hard on their weak and oppressed psyches. Both sides are products of a bogus system that throws away morals like McDonald's wrappers and half-eaten Big-Macs.

Society says we should walk down the aisles, finger trained on the products displayed there in pretty wrappers, and pick and choose who we want to use then promptly throw away. A child abuses his toys and a parent thinks nothing of it.

Society says we should believe Prince Charming or a beautiful Princess is out there waiting who will fulfill our short-sighted dream of marriage and end up divorced and on welfare. Their dreams are all cheap plastic. They need to burn.
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Phew! Had to get some cynicism out.