Alive or dead, walking or squatting, talking or mute, fighting or acquiescing, resisting or collaborating, crying or laughing, cursing or praising, the clock is always ticking...
My life's clock will someday stop, so will my son's chronograph, and his children's too... but the beauty and love of freedom and rationality passed from father to son, to grandson will ensure the beauty that is the short and sometimes brutish life we live on this god-forsaken ball of rock.
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