When we watch a play under the standard circumstances, we've lost volition and time is passing. A still play feels like an existential threat.

I do think the past changes at a slower rate. It sits a little more still for its portrait.

I like the Mets. I'm interested in the Mets.

The universe is a meat grinder and we're just pork in designer shoes, keeping busy so we can pretend we're not all headed for the sausage factory. Maybe I've been hallucinating this whole time and there is no Heaven and Hell. Instead of having to choose between God and the devil, maybe our only real choice comes down to link or patty?

Time is passing : not leaden stepping
But sprinting on winged feet,
Quick silver slipping by.

Time is not measured by the passing of years but by what one does, what one feels, and what one achieves.