CANARIES IN THE CLOCKWORK

By earth-ling-gerring

Do you have the time? Or does Time have you? It must if you got your wristwatch on, you do have one right? Compulsory attire is cumulatively tiring. Clocks on our wrists, we compulsively watch our watches. Watching it, watching you, who’s watching who? But the clocks remain, always all the time, in time off and time on. Like an international date line, the timeline is strait as a railroad, to be in time means to be in line. All of the watched watchers marching in line to Time. ‘Get in Line’ the laud speakers scream. Hardly necessary when you’re (c)locked in, day in and day out, in the prison of Progress which is the progress of Prison. Locked in by clocks, cell blocks, city blocks, and market stocks. The Timer calls the shots. He tells the racers when to go and when to stop. We race around, the rats that race for the traces of the faces of meaningful scraps that turned out to be meaningless traps. Lab rats in the Laboratory race. We’re the cattle in the cattle stocks, and end up at the chopping blocks. Chopped from the land, and laid out in blocks. Acres and acres of mass market massacres. The work of the clock is made to degrade you through the use and abuse of (wo)man hours they take away from your life everyday which it counts on as your life counts down, and proceeding along in this way like clockwork. Time is running out for us domesticated mammals especially, and maybe even then for life on this planet Earth. If it dies, what then? Nay I say, why not run out of time altogether, how about now? The time has come to escape this flying machine. Fly, fight, and flee, to freedom! It’s about Time! Have you looked outside of this fascist zeppelin? Do you not see its mead of lead? It’s not even flying at all, but has already started to fall; we’re falling back down to earth. Abandon ship! Sound the call. When the Time come, how about we really punch the clock. Smash it to pieces, to find our peace. For we need the shards for arrowheads, we’ll need them to shoot at the hearts and the heads of the encroaching robot Army. Only then will we humans have time to burn. And burn it we will, with our wills we will act, and may the words on our breath fan the flames. The flames of the Phoenix that will fly down upon the city, and into the clockwork. For we are the canaries in the clockwork, and may we summon the creation/destruction of the Phoenix of chaos to bring this civilization to and end. And in it’s ashes, maybe then; we may sow the seeds of freedom and let them grow wild.