Time stops on the clock, as soon as we stop paying it attention. As if it deserves such praise, such recognition. Bringing us up so quickly, giving us just a moment to see the world or maybe only the backyard of some small town. Then it takes us to the side and reprimands us, turning us back into a child, shushes us back to sleep. Yet it is within our grasp to stretch the hands of old father time, just a little, winding them back, right in this moment as we are. If we allow ourselves to enter the present as it truly is, the endless momentous occurrence where these fabled clocks never actually existed. Father time is hanging himself on the wall, as it all bends back again upon itself. Never was it subjected to these linear progressions of these geared minds, as the cycle continues.
– Josh Fleming
Image by: Superstudio