Time Is the Jones

What would you do with YOUR time machine? Like, after you got over the mind-whack of what that actually meant. That you could dial up a time in the past and transport yourself there, knowing what you know now, walking amongst the populace as the secret God of Tomorrow.

When would you chose? What would you do? How would you do it?

That’s the subject of my song Time is the Jones, focusing on a sloshed sled-head who smokes a lotta weed, drinks way too much, tries to do good, loves being bad and scared he’ll come back to a screwed-up world, forever changed by his own past-tense behavior.

 Fortunately for us, he’s stoned more on the concept than on reeking havoc. In fact, he chooses times to go back and help improve a given situation, though always mindful of things potentially going wrong. You’d better carry some fire power in case of trouble. Stay on the path, don’t mess with mother nature, that kind of thinking.

It’s enough to give a guy pause. And admit to a room full of one that he’s a user, addicted to The Jump, high on fore-knowledge, crazy to hang with the superstars of history and prove his worth by nudging them towards their glory.

And it’s got to stay a secret, an invention second to none that nestles in a 2-car garage under a $20 tarp that no one, not mom, best girl or some five-star general gets to know about. Because that would be the beginning of the end of the world as we know it. Never mind you’re the someone who stumbled onto successfully building the thing. It’s an ultimate weapon of destruction with virtually unlimited magical power to change things.

Which makes it the world’s largest dollop of insanity. And when you’re on that kind of level, the best way to handle it is to have another drink, right?

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Monolith

Fifty years after the fact, the majestic black structure found on the moon by astronauts in the film 2001 still stands as a perfect metaphor for the mysteries of space. Left by some vastly superior race, they are present on Earth at the dawn of man and in the astronaut's Jupertarian bedroom in what appears to be his final destination.

Author Arthur C. Clark, the brilliant geek who brought us this vision, describes them as objects that were placed around the universe to observe, interact and when necessary, to regulate... Behave and everybody gets to evolve the way they will, including you messy humans. Eww.

But how perfectly symbolic to turn to a solid black rectangular block as the key to unfolding the mysteries of the cosmos. A big black block o' “Huh?" Never mind, silly Earthlings. When you're ready, you'll know.

Meanwhile, I've got a monolith of my own. No, not a metaphor for a belief or how I live my life. It's a real, miniature model of a monolith! Six inches tall, it's solid black plastic and sits majestically on a dusty section of bookcase, just waiting for me to throw it some attitude. I love this thing, which came wonderfully blister-packed on a card that pronounced it an action toy, featuring "zero articulating parts!" Bought several and gave them to friends couple Xmases back, proudly inviting them into my elite club. They were, all of them, struck more or less speechless with what I can only conclude was sheer and grateful delight. I imagine the places of honor where their facsimiles now reside, these graceful reminders of our puny insignificance in this minute li'l corner of galaxy.

Brothers and sisters, WE are the Monolith. We stand tall, proud slabs of black plastic, wildly gesticulating, windblown, winsome non-articulating parts. Don't let the opportunity pass. EMBRACE the Monolith. BE the Monolith. We are ALL Monoli-Thick.

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