If clocks have voices, they sing in circles, revolutions in crescendo. Time oscillates like a pendulum, swinging between whispers of what has been and what could never be. Wrapped in their cogs, our thoughts splinter like shattered glass — reflections of selves never seen, whispering through brass bells that toll the hour of lost opportunities.
The theory spins, spins, spins like a child's dreidel on the edge of destiny. Is it luck or fate that chooses its path? Each spin, a cycle of choices, reveals unseen dimensions where every decision births a universe, teetering on the brink of divergence.
In the lab of eternities, we mix the impossible with mundane matter, creating potions of probability. What do clocks know that we forget when lost in the linear illusion? Their song, a loop, a hymn, a chaos we can't comprehend.
Play Among the Dimensions Listen to the Whispering Clocks