Liquid time (viscous, variable, sociopathic; the ubiquitous matrix wet with time, time the whole banana) doesn’t always move in one direction, a waterfall churning into rivers that are also pointed down. It may, like Earth itself, corpus or organism, be careening, surface teeming, in one dark line, drawn by a fat soft pencil. But upon the surface of time, that is to say, on its protrusions, there are eddies too, things that reverse, or simply start again and again. Smarter, wiser now. Ready for more.
– Harry Dodge, from My Meteorite