In the events that have taken place over the past 40 years, and personally the last 2, there has been a disturbance in the energy of my bottle. Friction, pressure; a cancer that infects only those who can find a cure. There comes a time in everyone’s clock when the hands seem to stop. It is then when you have the option of winding that clock or building a new one. An ultimate new self, a non-clock that knows of no infection or rust. I have witnessed many broken, rusty clocks in my life. Some of them more accurate than most. The worst thing is seeing them being wound up and set to the time and pace of others due to the surrender of knowledge to build another. How many times can a bottle be shaken? How long can rusted gears fight for revolution without shattering and forcing time to stop? The answer lies beneath the heap of debris. Whether or not anybody has the ambition to dig it up depends on how many cancerous souls they wish to save. Recently my bottle has shaken again. Only this time it’s controlled. The contents will shower the blindly uncarbonated and flood the trenches dug by the ignorant and subconsciously thirsty clock winders.
Sept 17, 2001