A twist on the key tensions the main spring until there is no play left. But the steady tension of that wind turns the clock's arms in measured jumps. In the escapement, the wheel is caught and released discreetly, and seconds don't run like fluid around the face. it is two, and then it is three – the in-between is a blur. Time was digital even when it was analog, as those teeth and cogs ensure.


We have internalized the experience of a clock — speed ungoverned by the steady, standardized tick of a grandfather's second hand — and this without the tedium of Einstein's proofs: a clock that is always moving faster and faster. But we remain in hearing distance of other, older clocks and grow accustomed to their proliferation and multiplicity. We live in these times, in their plurality.

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