But time did not move. The phallus is the promise of an ever approaching tomorrow. For the children—for the future!— insinuates his God. She must not be fooled by the fruits of his infinity, since the time of the whole moves on the path of ouroboros. Phallus is absorbed in chasing itself; it spins in circles, feeding on its own repetition. Count after count after count, it runs gashes through her body, mutilating her just to affirm its own (im)possibility.