Even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day...

Back, going back in all directions
Sleeping these insane hours...



I am trying to catch up with my quickly receding soul, or is it that it’s still caught up in the confusion of the darkness of a time warp, not being able to rid itself of the suffocating thoughts of an internally ever retreating and increasingly deceiving (remembrance of the) past?

Black. Blank. Nothingness.
Into the void...

Who am I again?

(Art by Jordi Bonet. The End of Time (1966-68))