Time is not what you think

We create ourselves in our own fashions. Dispassionately, we fester in the little minutes of unmarked days. Our eyes wholly reject what they see, shutting off far horizons. But there you are - aspirations wane. Yet upon this drowned earth we may find ourselves abroad in some unearthly place. Everything imbued with strange meaning; every thought a subtle epiphany. 

Here the gleaming stucco architecture - sunken concrete blockhouses swimming amongst the faded gravel and disorderly spread of olive trees - puts one in mind of some far-flung human outpost struggling on a distant world. A drowned world? The ocean, azure and clean-looking; sparkling in the sun... At night it is transformed into a seething, creeping swathe of nothingness; a wraith of its shattered softness; a dark heart waiting to smother the peon masses should we swim too far astry in our blank dreams.