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Only Time Will Tell

Journal entry long number 18,250:

It has been 50 years since I was abandoned on this island. Tomorrow my water will run out, followed by my food the next day. After that I will become yet another victim to time. While my days are indeed numbered, I find it imperative that "My Legacy" proceeds to thrive. Is that not the final irony I suppose? My life has been completely devoid of the parasite known as time, yet I wish to be remembered amongst those who worship it.

Despite my best efforts I am still alone here. Fortunately, I have but one faithful friend, a single tower beyond the mist of the vines and vegetation, completely secluded from the rest of the island. This tower... oh this tower, it possesses something of great evil and influence. At its peak lies a grandfather clock, and every time I gaze upon it, it glares back at me, taunting me tempting me, tormenting me! However, there is something very confounding about this tower, it is a fake, a placebo if you will.

I often listen to the crashing of the waves against the golden sandy shores. I listen to the wind rustle through the swaying palm trees that grace the island. My eyes sense the sight of beautifully vibrant-colored birds. Then I turn my ears to the ghoulish wailing of that insipid clock. I listen to the ticking and the tocking, and the rhyming and the chiming of the clock. These sounds, sounds stirring from hell, killing me faster than any physical plague ever could.

I look to the demonic clock, a devilish grin seems to befalls its face. All of a sudden, the mellow waves mutate into a horrid vacuous void, submitting to the fraud known as time. The gentle trees become violent and barren, bearing no fruit. Next, the elegant doves convert to vicious and demented crows, all revolving around the ticking and the tocking and the rhyming and the chiming of the clock.

All day and all night, the inane clock goes on ticking and tocking, rhyming and chiming. Every waking moment, I can feel my mind morphing, my ideas are no longer my own. I can feel something else, something new, yet it is no longer me. With the absence of time, my mind has sought after no stimulants... after all why should it? Every day time lives, persists and thrives on the hosts known as human conscious. it has no idea that the longer it fools those imbecilic simpletons, the more irrelevant it becomes. I believe, that men know this and they feed into it to find a state of contentment in the midst of chaos. I believe that man's consciousness created time solely to have a conceivable, tangible concept of the universe. Evidently, man is too cowardly and terrified to accept an era without time for fear of the truth.


Here on this island the concept time has been eradicated, and all that is left is merely a state of being. If humanity were to embrace this ideal, then all would be solved. There is no man versus nature, man versus himself, man versus other man, and there never was. It has only ever been "Man versus Time." Time is not real, nor is it intangible. It is simply an impersonator of something greater to come.

Here on this island there are but six incarnations. The first being myself, and the second, third, and fourth, being food, water, and shelter. The fifth is the clock, the very same clock, which the hordes of hell dance upon as they laugh and guffaw. The sixth however, is a mirror. The only corrupt purpose of this mirror is to reflect my own ailing soul.

I have spent so many dubious years on this island. Consequently, it is important to preserve the mind. This is why day-after-day at high noon, I climb to restless clock. And every day it taunts me with its ticking and its tocking and its rhyming and its chiming. Every day, I climb attempting to destroy the wretched time piece, but with every passing day brings to light a new mortal terror about myself, for I can not destroy the clock, and neither can I submit to it. So every day I engage in a new climb to the top...

Just below the illusion of time, lies a single torturous chamber where regret and moral ambiguity thrives. In this room lies an insipid mirror where time becomes a reality. At one point when my deranged spirit gazed upon this mirror, a hideous monster peered back at me. This monster once possessed deep vibrant blue eyes, the iris a morphic black, colder than the dark side of the moon. From the head two maniacally twisted goblin-like ears emerge out of the skin, awaiting to hear every bit of evil and rumor that enchants their hideousness. As for the mouth, this month could in fact stop a goblin dead in its tracks, with jagged teeth thirsty for vengeance, envy, and contempt unable to resolve the correct course of action. This reflection,

unfortunately, awaits all of humanity if they do not change. If they do not evolve into a realization of something greater than them, ...

Even though at one time in my life I may have conveyed these same emotions, when I look into the mirror now a new incarnation of soul patiently waits to be cleansed of all moral turpitude. Now the methodical traits of man have been revealed to me. What one man considers evil, another may consider righteous. Black and white can become a deceitful grey as the two drives feed off each other in a vain hope to find purpose.

Image removed.Image removed.I often find myself gawking at the naive, oblivious birds that flock around my island home. It confounds me as to how similar man is to them. As far as mankind, they swarm each other in a desperate hope to belong. They quarrel and squabble amongst themselves for purposes, unknowing of their irrelevance, and like the birds when the incessant clock begins its ticking and its rocking and its rhyming and its chiming they are the ones turning into the hard-hearted crows. They are the ones losing themselves to their own pride. When time was introduced the wings of the once lavishly painted bird turned to ash with eyes burning red arrogance, and its mouth is only good for robbing the world of humility.


Each day at high noon, when I climb to the infernal clock. I watch at its peak the birds who perch there, unknowing their own foolishness. I watch as they attempt to fly from the island, much like how men attempt to escape from a prison that they do not know exists. Unfortunately, men are too much like the birds for they give up their perilous fight right before their escape for fear of what may happen to them if they were to live a life without time. Inevitably, out of lack of courage men, much like the birds, must return to perch and rest on the clock subjugated by the ticking and the tocking and the rhyming and the chiming of the clock. Honestly, I pity them for they will never know how close salvation really is.


Time is not only an insidious antidote for the human psyche's obsessive quest for knowledge. It goes by many other names. I call him "the imposter" to some he is known as the "traitor." You see, man created time to have some false deceiving relationship with reality, Time was meant to be under their control, alas I wish things had unfolded in that way. For there was a provocateur in their midst. Time betrayed man, made them slaves, and the saddest part is they will never understand this. However I believe, that there is hope. Something's coming, something big, something powerful. My life proves that an existence beyond time is possible, and this thing will be here faster than you think. However, until then I am stuck here watching my world imprisoned by ticking and the tocking and the rhyming and the chiming of the clock, Tick Tock.


Journal log entry 18,251:


I guess all that can be said for mankind now is, only time will tell.


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