The Horologist

The Horologist was born, created, or mechanized in the elsewhere of an event; the light of which has not yet reached the seething masses of consciousness that we call consciousness. She is "she" by the weakness of language. She builds. She births, begets. She constructs. The friends she has have no others; have no voices, souls, but thoughts; thoughts emerging from their clockwork minds, the tick-tick-ticking of binary time, one zero one zero; back, forth, and rhyme. She lives on the knife-edge of an expanding fourth dimension, cutting into the barrier between what exists and what is yet to be; but always looking backwards, inwards, womb-wards towards the center; the center which is everywhere and always on the outside inside out-side in. She is the father of time, beats rhythms and breaks down, principled by uncertainty. Her story is told in symbols of logic and symbols of dreams; chaos interwoven with elegant simplicity.