…and who are you?
What is this voice, this mind that pontificates a sense of order within the chaos?
The clockwork angels works the day shift, gear and cog greased over by the plasmate.
Punching the clock, the time piece winds in another direction, dreaming in digital, the author writes the script, the narrator dances through the scenes, as the selected characters play so many parts, the midnight movies that defy any known genre, as the films display the hidden calligraphy of the soul, flashes of revery occasionally enter-spliced into the frame, the editor has a since of humor, as the alarm clock sounds and the theater lights are brought back up, disoriented are the angels as they walk back out into the sun.
– Josh Fleming