Elsewhere

That was the buzz, the thought that there was a logic that defied explanation in the flow of the river against its banks. Was the river against its banks. Was the river moving or was it still and he flowing past. This riddle clock was made of light itself the flux of mirrors and lasers, ruby red and irridescent blue. The light of his consciousness passing by the shadows; the irony of time, thats what interested him. Not the discovery of some ends, some root cause. In the logic of dreams, in the spirit of playful mockery. Nothing. What is there to gain from sifted sand through a sieve he thought to himself. The humour of the whole thing, the irony of time, thats what interested him. Not the discovery of some ends, some root cause. In the logic of dreams, in the spirit of playful mockery. Nothing. What is there to gain from sifted sand through a sieve he thought to himself. The humour of the whole thing, the irony of time, thats what interested him. Not the discovery of some ends, some root cause. In the logic of dreams, in the glimmer of light accross the beach front, the smile of a mischievious child. This was the conundrum, a clock which actually tied into the pulse of the flux, without foreshadowing much like a highway restop. He knew the problem was unsolvable but the actual flow of time and perhaps she was right. Normal thought never even explored the idea that time could be a coefficient and not an absolute. Most watched time flow through there fingers, its whiskers licking there faces as they turned from now to now. She seemed to work. If the Swiss could build a better Cookoo clock, with their intricate knowledge of the river against its banks. Was the river against its banks.



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