“Welcome to the useless page. I wasted my time typing this, and you are currently wasting your time reading this. I have no real reason for making this page. It’s just that I have been sitting here updating the website and got a little bored. Thus this completely useless page is a result of boredom which is a result of maintenance. Can one conclude that maintenance is useless? No, I don’t think so. Wait…. I am thinking things. Wow, so this page is not just useless, it’s a projection of my thoughts, which is at the moment worthless, I think….. Ah. So we have a useless but also worthless page here. Ugh, come on. Why are you still reading! I have told you exactly 111 words ago and 39 word ahead ┬áthat you are wasting your time. Yeah, did you see what I did there? I wasted even more time by counting the words from when I told you you are wasting your time to tell you again, you are wasting you time. Are you still reading? That is crazy, you clearly have to much time on your hands. Well let me think what I can do with your attention while I still have it. I still have it right? Oh, for a moment I thought I was going to lose you, but if you are reading this, you are still with me. So since we both have a lot of time on your hands (I use the expression for the second time now. Wait, second time, why don’t we have a minute time, or hour time. We have a our time which sound the same, anyway), well technically that’s not true, I don’t own a wrist watch, but “time on our hand” was a figure of speech. But you know what I mean, because you are still reading this, and that means we understand each other. So enough talk. Stap nou, werk later….”

-Hanno Lamprechts, 2017 – 2019

Now that a new regime has come into power, it is time for me to add to this most useless of pages. Why? Because I don’t have anything better to do (save for some catching up to do on studying, but who does that?).

Now, the entire point of this entire page is to waste as much of your time as humanly possible. I wonder, how should I go about doing this? My first inclination is to go into a lengthy, abstract and completely nonsensical musing about time and what it is. Since, well, we’re wasting so much of it by just being here. And since I’m not a particularly creative, thoughtful or intelligent soul, I’ll have to go with my first inclination because my next thought is due in about two hours, and I can’t wait that long to have another idea.

So, time.

What is time? Is it a river? An ocean? A lake? A body of water wide as an ocean but deep as a puddle? Or a body of water wide as a puddle but deep as an ocean? This is a very good question, but it’s too hot in my room to try to answer it. So what now? Is this the extent of the time I have to waste?

Pfft. Of course not. Another idea just happened. It’s usually like this. At the start of the year, I get lots of bad ideas very quickly in a row. But as the year progresses, my bad ideas become less and less frequent until I have about one every month. My good idea frequency, however, stays at the same fixed frequency of seven every never. But I’m getting sidetracked.

Ooh. I know. A story. Well, a paragraph. That tells a story. Sort of.

Actually, it’s just the last desperate attempt of a bored engineer trying to resurrect the last remnants of a once-creative mind, numbed and eroded through time by the virus that is math.

Herewith follows a eulogy on time, an original work by the same guy that will be typing this:

A eulogy on time:

A mother, wife, sister, daughter she was to us. Day after day we took her for granted. We used her for our own good, rarely, if ever, giving back to her. And she endured it. For longer than I can even begin to appreciate, she endured the onslaught of our whims. But her patience was dwarfed only by her capacity to give. And take.

Selfless, she gave. Everything, nothing. Something. She was a rather whimsical creature herself. Sometimes, she’d be generous and we’d receive blessing upon blessing. We’d dance the night away under her watchful eye, we’d spend her gifts recklessly on immaterial acts. And yet, she’d give us more. And more. And we took her gifts for granted. Until she started taking.

Selfishly, she took. Or so we believed. But she was merely accepting her due, the gifts she had given us worn through and broken, fractured, shattered. As she kept taking, we started begging for her to give back. To become the selfless giver she once was. But her ears were deaf and her eyes were blind to our pleas, and she kept taking. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year. Always changing yet remaining the same. But even she could not escape inevitability. Even she, with all the gifts she had to give and all the gifts she had reclaimed, could not escape what was destined to be, since the Beginning. And now, she has ended. Her gifts has been squandered and spent, her breath, once a bellow has become but a breeze.

In the end, all things must die.

But death is not what took her.

In the end, she herself was what ended her. Her time did not run out, as we mortals often euphemize death. No, for time is not a constraint she is bound by. Was bound by. Will be bound by.

For Mother Time answers to none except herself, and Time has run out.


Okay, time has run out. Go away. I’m done wasting yours.