Originally submitted here. Putting it in output, as suggested, confused me at first. But now that I think about it a bit, it fits, in a surreal way.

[ solios] Blog that shit.
[ solios] ....
[ solios] Blog that shit in Output. Stick it under the "read more" fold and add whatever explanation you'd like.
[ solios] unless you don't want to.
* solios wanders off.

===

Talk to her.
Tell her you love her.
Now.
Before it's too late.

Do what you always said you'd do.
Live like you always wanted to.
Now.
Before it's too late.

That pretty pony runs fast and runs hard
and God's a mean old son of a bitch.

Catch that pony.
Rein that fucker in.
Now.
Before it's too late.

Too late.

===

See, it's a poem about how time works. King's theory is that there are 3 types of time: long time, my-pretty-pony(real time) and short time, corresponding to your age. "From the time you're fourteen until, oh, I'm gonna say until you're sixty or so, most time is my-pretty-pony time," King says. "My pretty pony. That's the truth of time."

I think the first time I read this, I didn't understand it very well. Having re-read it yesterday, I'm afraid I do now. When you're little, everything seems forever. You have all the time in the world to do everything you want. But at some point in your life, time changes. It plods. It becomes real, and generally foul. When you get "old," time starts slipping past you. One moment it's spring and the next your wondering why the fuck the store is getting the xmas decorations out so early, even though they do it the same time every year.

So that's why I say rein that fucker. Don't let time own you. Own time. Control it. Use it.

Before it's too late.