little Huxleyan Smorgasborg

Was watching a nice concert on YouTube set in an open (Roman?) Theatre in Ephesus and thinking how nice would it have been to be there and then how nice would have have been to visit it 1000 years ago and 2000 years ago even a few years before the arrival of St-Paul to all mess it up. Mind you now it is just messed up by another religion that's all.

And then I was thinking one could visit Paris in the 19th and even 18th century back to Vercingetorix if one is so inclined.

Let's also remember that the TARDIS is not limited to earth.

The problem though with a TARDIS without a Time Lord is that one has a very short time to use it.

Sure there is a million scenarios one can write and imagine but but but there are also a million constraints physical and political and geographical not to mention mental.

It would be sad to miss a whole "day" on the TARDIS because I am feeling a little deflated today and CBF really.

Anyway the mind is an open field if one is so inclined and this is why to me writing would be the best job ever. Mind you writing something that will be good enough to make a living is another story. I guess one who is retired should not be concerned about that now.

Back to a more practical time machine now the H.G. Wells engine would occupy one for quite some time alone, pun intended.

No different location, no different space in there, but just a shift in time in the time space continuum.

ALSO I don't know about others but here the past seems to be fading away a little fast, at an alarming rate sometimes.

I have been to Paris and to England and to Canada and to the USA many a times but it all seems like a distant dream, fading memories with some part totally gone.

And moreover it is not NOW because NOW is all what counts really. Past is gone Future is not here yet and blah blah blah.


There is also a feeling that not all times and places ought to be enjoyed. I cringed at manifestation of ignorance especially in a large group of people whatever century it is.

Like this H.G. Wells contraption bombs and geological nightmares are bound to surround you at times.

Plus it would also be a little Huxleyan Smorgasborg of way too many choices causing mental paralysis.

Funny how the mind (or my mind anyway at least) escapes to a gazillion impossibilities instead of facing the possible whatever that is: less and less if I am to extrapolate the decline and entropy of this old body that was never great to begin with.