There are clocks everywhere I look, ticking, tick-tock-tick-tock. All wound to a different time, tick tock. It is exactly as I planned it, yes. The walls are covered with clocks that show different times–tick at different speeds. I step into a mad fantasy–what I want to go to, yes–and the world falls away.

There is a clock that shows what time I want it to be, different from its neighbor, and I do not have to do anything now. Tick tock, no, no time has passed. It is frustrating to anybody who prefers things to be organized, tick tock tick tock tock tick tick tick tock, no pattern or rhythm. Time does not exist, and yet everywhere I look, there is time, right there, yes, time and time and more time, there and there and there.

Mostly, people do not come in, claiming the tick-tock-tick-tock, always there, never stopping, drives them crazy. I do not care. It makes no difference to me whether I am crazy or not. Little gold grains slip through the hourglass, but look–that clock, there, it is right now. No time has passed. Tick. That clock is the only right one in the room, and all others are wrong. Tock. And when that clock shows that it is getting late, I will find another clock that I like better. There–look, there is one. Tick tock. Different from its neighbors, so I will remember which one it is.

It is a madhouse, yes. Tock tick. And I am its prisoner, no. This is a trap of my own making. I do not have to do anything, yes. It is a paradise–a room where reality falls away. Tick tock tick. I am slightly mad, yes. But I like that, yes, and I am happy with my room with no time, and all the time in the world. Tick tock tick tock.