Mashash of lives

I could not - not once - understand the concept of time. I do not know how much has passed, and I do not know how much will pass. I have been like this ever since you knew me. I am a fourth hand lost between minutes and hours. I have become so lost that my center does not even intersect with the rest of the hands. My haste does not enable me to catch up with the seconds, nor does my ego enable me to keep up with the hours! I do not really understand what the succession of days means to you, so I console your passion with a word that informs you of some of my condition. For me, all my days are an echo that continues to echo and reverberate until infinity. Loud or low, they are all the same! I do not know where I started, nor how I came, and I do not know my origin, so much so that the ladies of Paris weave strange stories about me for their children until they sleep. Sometimes I am a descendant of the Bourbons, who were overthrown by the revolution and they became mad, and sometimes I am possessed by the spirits of the Umayyads, who invaded the Tours Valley a thousand years ago!