Is This Why I Value the Arachnid?

this is about the time they come slithering out the woodwork and suggesting I drop another nugget of entropy on the floor and let them swallow it, one enveloping the other, like a series of snake-eating kingsnakes.  it is driven to self-destruction, this thing we call the present, forever a matrix of events that will propel it into that nothingess we call the future, thus passing into that nothingness we call the past.  this sense of thingness, as opposed to its inverse, pervades the present like wood pulp supporting a child's drawing of an ox, a house, and a clown faced man with purple hair, it is such a necessary part of every experience, but ephemerally so, and the experiences live on without such a thing as thingness.  why do we have sand in the world? and beaches?, and glaciers retreating back into the arctic sea? to remind us that that vast array of nows can stretch so far back into the hazy fog of history that invisibility in the face of the entropy of it all and the destruction of rock layers makes it certain that annihilation of everything but the chain of consequence is possible.  that is all that is left of the ancient continent of Columbia, at the moment, just the necessity of it having been there for just the right rock layers to pervade the now, but none of that rock is a real part of Columbia, just a mere placeholder for what came earlier, metamorphosed beyond recognition.  Is this why I value the arachnid?