COSMIC AEONS

Sleep is great, isn't it? I mean it, have you heard of it? It's absolutely wonderful, it does incredible things to my mind and body as a whole - I've never felt so alive! Which is a first, or at least for this week it is. I'll be honest, I haven't had that much of it at all in recent days. I could tell you the truth and say that it's because I've been very busy, that the life of a university student is a heavy burden to bear and that the weight of it has stressed me out - or I could tell a funny lie and say that all I've been doing is backing up the "Sleep Tank" so I can use it up when it actually matters - like skipping forward in time a few hours. Because sleep is a time machine (the wonders of sleep knows no bounds), it helps you enter the realm of the unconscious for a period of time, having adventures, getting into scrapes, battling monsters or having a nice time with a celebrity of your choice. Then when you emerge again, not only are you...

Time has a very nasty habit of not moving when you're aware of it, it's sneaky like that, moving at a snail's pace at the very moment you need it to do the exact opposite. Then you blink, and all of a sudden, the best years of your life are gone, you're on your death bed surrounded by the people you love, the people you like, and the other dying people in the hospital who you hold a great indifference towards - your mind is racing, you've known this moment would come, you've known it your whole life, but now is the time to worry about if it was enough. Religion as a whole has bashed into everyone's head that your life is the rehearsal for the grand performance of passing away, I hope you've learnt your lines because the almighty is in the front row and he's ready to be entertained, he's watching your every move so you best not stumble or make any mistakes - he'll be watching, and he's a very harsh critic. So now you're worrying about ...

Julius Caesar was killed during the Ides of March, 44 BC, stabbed multiple times by multiple people wielding various knives of different shapes and sizes. The Emporer of Rome, on the verge of becoming a vicious dictator, and the title character of William Shakespeare's beautiful play, brutally murdered by his friends, foes and fellow colleagues - he died in a puddle of his own blood, staring up at the ceiling of the Theatre of Pompey.   How unfortunate. 2,063 years later and I'm sat at my computer, writing up a story about the Master luring an unsuspecting politician into his TARDIS, which then proceeds to gobble her up for energy so the Master can carry on doing very terrible things throughout time and space. Those two events might appear unconnected, but if you took the time to look closely, you might find there are many similarities. However, I don't have that sort of time, so I won't be going into the details, they're probably not even there at all, but all the ...