Dare you enter the labyrinthine minds of men made of gears, where each thought is a tick and every dream a tock? Where the clocks smile knowingly as the hour hand waltzes gracefully across the dial of destiny.
Have a chat with your inner watchmaker. Click here to adjust reality's hands.
Somewhere, in the dim-lit alleyways of consciousness, a clock is lamenting its lack of a second hand, while the cuckoo laughs, tweeting about it in an imaginary bird's bathroom stall.
Ever wonder why dreams are made of such luminescent ideas? The glow comes not from the sun, but from the happy thoughts that dance in shimmering ribbons across the mind's eye sky.
Feeling an itch to explore further? Consider venturing into Eternal November or witness a day that never ends: Acme Zenith.