If I could re-entitize myself, he says, I wouldn’t want to be man or beast or household humdrum object, the thing I would like to be is Time itself, and yet somehow still alive in the way I am now, able to feel things, that metal object over there, I forget what it is called, it doesn’t matter, can it feel things, for all we know time is nothing but feeling, the type of feeling that can suddenly invade a thing and thus alter it, but no, he continues to say, I can only be the thing I was made to be, which is something not quite human and not quite spectral either, I am an object, and by my essence, I am allergic to that very thing I most wish to be, Time, and therefore I don’t see myself morphing into it anytime soon, however I know that morphing is a process, each moment that passes I become something else, I wasn’t the same object I was even five minutes ago, I feel myself growing hard around the edges and one day I will crumble into dust, will you remember me then, he asks, as I am now, perhaps when I am forgotten by you and everyone, that is the moment I will become Time.