The Clock

I glanced at the clock and noticed that my vision was becoming more and more blurred by the second. It was as if a little gust of wind had suddenly appeared, causing my eyes to squint, and draw small tears that trickled down the side of my face, the droplets weaving their way down my cheeks, hugging my skin, as they slipped their way down further and further - to eventually dissolve. The clock was undergoing a strange process of being stripped of all its normal features, slowly becoming a blank circle purged of its quantitative aspects, adding dramatically to this sense of absorption I was feeling, as I moved ever closer to losing sight of all the distinguishable features that made themselves visible. I couldn’t make out where this process started or ended, so densely connected was the whole architecture of my experience. All I really noticed was the deftness of the imaginary sequences, as they changed their shape and forced me to inquire ... but it was always too late to find anything. I flashed my eyes in another direction to clear my head; but when I returned to look at the clock face again, it had completely returned to its normal form replete with its repetitive motions involving the initial battery of digits on display.