timex
There is nothing more purposeful than a clock’s handsticking. Relentless, merciless and perseverant, these pendulous vibrations aremost eloquent when you wait and listen-for the familiar steps of a loverwalking home, the soft and treacherous tread of a burglar entering your home,or when you are sitting still in a silent room enjoying a quiet moment.
The pleasant, comforting lull of the ticking can induceslumber. At other times, it can soundlike sweet music. Its healing properties are much talked about, too. The eternalpain balm.
But, when you’re caught up in your own imagined, purposeful,self-driven lives, you don’t hear these footprints (or handprints) at all. Youforget that time exists.
With its three hands and their obstinate moves, I find itincreasingly important to move all of them backwards, and feel younger andwiser, while I also watch how similar efforts spawn a thriving industry basedon manufacturing age miracles.
It is only in outer space that time assumes a new persona,hitherto unseen and unfelt by man. When fused with space, it attains the fourthdimension. This thought always reminds me of a famous Renaissance artist andhis depiction of a clock bent and spread over like a blob of liquid run over,stretched into a misshapen piece.
Why are the hands not categorized into legs and hands? And,why is the clockwise move a forward movement? Why can’t it be otherwise?