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Constance

"When perceived correctly, the world is a mirror which,
disinterestedly, maintains a current record of our
nature and constitution.
Within this vast parabolic mirror, we should be able to
see clearly the forms our faults have taken--which
daily stand in our way.
Yet, for the sake of allotting our inadequacies a wide
berth and so as to avoid running into them head-on, we
have learned to artfully avoid our own reflections.
Our most regrettable qualities have successfully
overwhelmed our nobility and now the image of a man has
become indistinguishable from the form of his fault.
Of a man, it can no longer be said that he is as a
monkey aping the behavior of angels.
For in our avoidance of ourselves, we have given up
even on strife. The purpose of this critique is not to
aide in the composition of an epic satire; rather, I
would that this knowledge serve as a launching pad.
We can correct the human model--there is a method."
Time is an insect. As it emerges it crawls from it’s
hole.
It is crushed under the weight of a heavy boot heel.
The cracking of it’s carapace is as all clocks ticking
in tandem.
In the sand of this crinkling/crackling ticking, is the
sound,
The measure and the rhythm of life’s passing.
We count time as stones cast as lots.
Yet, we intone our very own countdown to death.
Into death’s embrace we walk, and unto death we shall
For we have failed to understand the true nature and
structure of time.
The mantra of the clock is the voice of god.
Your clocks merely tick, I shall make them talk.
Here time shall speak.
He is the "man of straw", "the tall man"; HIS NAME:
MIEN NIHIL, or
Phantasma, as denotes his function.
He amputates the mind. He compacts the body
Few indeed knowingly evoke The Tall Man, but
HITHER HE COME YE MAY BE CERTAIN.
HERE HE ENCLOSES a world and releases it¹s energy.
HE COMPACTS THE SOMA.
HE AMPUTATES THE PSYCHE.
What time is it?