Timespotting

In the beginning there was...a word. A single one. And then others follow, gather around, populate a list. More like a firework blast, an explosion. The world is reborn with every beginning world, it dawns through one spark. Just like time. Or the notion of timeliness. So many ideas float around it, it's a gravitational movement that attracts many idea-satellites. They all float in a latent pre-ordering state, ready to leave the indefinite chaos when I eventually sift and let them lay in my writing sheet. I could cling to any of them, but which one?Seems like time is subject to my mood, to my choices; which define us.
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Then there's the moment with its folded particles that I'd like to separate and isolate and then describe each side, let it fall into words. However, the uniqueness that a moment encapsulates fails to reveal to me yet. It lingers there for a second and then it silently slips away; a sour trickery. I know I've lived it, but where did it go?why does it have to be so furtive and stealthily leave  the realm of words?My realm of words. And when I say words, I mean my own universe that I build on words as the basic raw unit of expression. It's clear to me that I need to polish that wordiness but then again I'd have to accelerate a change of my spirit which I seriously doubt  I am able able to do, especially according to my wants. For if it's my will that establishes my fluid expression it is a rather slow, gradual process that evolves in me but somehow separate from me, as if an autonomous entity developing on its own. It can be a monstrous sight that I come to think of it. The more I think, the more I feel I'm not writing about time in itself at this point, but certainly about how my something else grows in time.

 Let's call time our collateral victim. Poor Time, it's got no real input into this equation, but to witness the changes occurring. However, time and my perception of the moment live in perfect symbiosis, they intertwine forming a dizzying structure so that it makes it hard to separate them, to dissect them in order to extract their role as if carefully sitting it on a nicely ordered shelf. But now, my world is still cloudy, I'm trying hard to chase that haze away and let the light in. Volition is the first step. Followed by my first-rate illusion of figuring myself out.