There was a period of time when I would look at a clock
and it was always 12:34.
It wasn’t a broken clock, I just never bothered to look
at other points during the day
and when I’d finally look after hours of wasted time
or diurnal hunger
I’d sneak a peek and it’d be 12:34
and I started giving significance to that coincidence
it had to mean something—like I knew I would eventually die exactly at 12:34—
and the fact that the numbers were sequential added a layer of deeper meaning
like the golden ratio or 420
and then I started forcing myself to see it
if it was only 12:31 or 9:15 I’d keep looking and looking so that I would be looking
when it was 12:34 like an idiot’s idea of destiny masking an evident confirmation bias
and really all it ever meant was that it was lunchtime
or that I should go the fuck to sleep.
Rehashed Potatoes 