The clock ticks not forward, nor back. Each second, an infinite universe of possibilities, snugly hidden in the folds of crystalline time. Would you not say that every tick is a contradiction, alive and in decay all at once?
Imagine quartz as a repository of dreams, suspended in a liminal state. Each crystal face reflecting another's whisper, revealing truths to the observer whose eyes unravel the temporal knots. Are you the observer, or the observed, tracing spectral outlines of paradox?