Original contemporary art prints.

The Ticking Man – A Fable Of Questions

The Ticking Man – A Fable Of Questions
April 25, 2003 facter

Before the end of the world, the Ticking Man held his eyes out to see the beyond,
from within his outer skin he imagined a land of beauty and reluctance,or power and travesty,
a land where those who would be fortunate were,and those who would be in crisis,
were to abound in dissidence,

The Ticking Man began his journey one short nova’s day,
his head alight with visions of this new realm and its colors, its vibrancy and its matters,
and coming to the shores of his vision,
he spied a boat from within his imagination to carry him on his voyage of transmeta luminance,
to discover this country of betters.

For nigh on eternity he sailed, upon a crystal ship made of paralysed thought,
encapsulated in its sails as it entered the rights of quantum continuity,
He thought deep in this solitude, heavy in the darkness between the stars light
and knew his final destination clearly, and wrestled with his own believability

And rising, he opened the wormhole to his Land, created the terrain upon which
his Ship of Majesty was to beach, and sighting the final goal before his fleeting
creative notion could flee, the binary star of Sim-Ininity burst its light upon
the sails of the Good ship Crystal Majesty, and they furled with the Star Light Seeping.

Down below, down and deeper, into the gravity well of twin fusion and tale,
the artistry of his nature as his descendants began twisting and writhing
like a Tessier algorithm bleeding its rules upon the living, til far below he sights Land
and the demands his mind made upon it are all laid out before him,

and his Creation is found to be Living.

Monsieur Sir Ticking Man, his heart beating, jumped from The Ship of Good,
wings unfurled hands outstretched toes curled to flounder upon the Seashore – above and beyond,
the Dark Star sim rose, facing towards him like an antagonist towards the book of Life and behind his head,
Inity, her joy of light burst upon his brow, and he stood stunned –

For all about, was his mind, his land of eternal pleasure, and the balance that held him,
Trees of plenty fruit and marvelous flower brought color to his isle of rock, and he named it Ashfoil,
for his mother, her gift to him the breath of his own singularity, his own piety..so…

There, where his good ship had beached, he carved from the rock a majestic throne of Diamond upon which to sit

Nigh on millennia he sat, pondering this creation,
moving the clouds with dreams and caressing the soil with thought,
and from the earth things came, living things in his image,
dual headed Estadors and six breasted Lamakors all wandered about the mainframe of his World and every day,
Sim-Inity battled it out between thmeselves, locked in the light of a jewel.

And he awoke, to a hand upon his brow.

The ticking mans heart tocked, his arms stretched and his wings began to flutter, for there
a Stutter, stood a little critter of merely petite stature, holding afore him a stick of wood
smiling, wavering, faltering: the Ticking Man reached out to what he had forgotten, of dreams
left anon and sullen, of imagination run riot and plastered out as progression should,

And as he had forgotten, sentience rose, flowered and bloomed amongst the realm,
the creatures named Hensmen , from ants had been, grew to farm and toil,
bubble and broil the earth for its gifts and his joy was Marked,
the suns rose in their dance and he uttered a shout of glee,
for there Amongst the Poiker tree, was there village, and he had begun his endless journey amongst his peoples Myths.

And time passed, as it always does, until one day…

Apolyte Danshu, clubbed foot and coiled,
moving his feet in abject toil ate of his meal in dishonored past and clouded foil over the nature of What Would Be,
What Was and What Should be –
He did disagree, unlike his betters, over the sovereignty of the Ticking Man –

“A fable” says he, in the house of Worship, “for if I do speak truth let my life be shot”

and sat he, beneath the Rondudrems, contemplating those words,
beneath the twin caress of Sim-Ininity and his folly at uttering, for where sat he now,
but shot from grace and good becoming, lanced through his faith by those who knew,
knew not or knew between and inside out – not he !

For under the bows, he did dream,
and came to the conclusion that the Ticking man made not the world’s dance

He clawed his way, to the point of Landed glee,
to face the Ticking man with fury and honesty walked crawled and moved
each four hands to the Greater land where none moved nor ventured to ask of him what he intended,
what he was and where he supposed his niche was encapsulated –
But upon arrival, the pilgrimage of months done, he discovered that what so holy, was indeed unmended:

For there was naught in sight, the Ticking Man having taken flight –

Eons ago, to leave the Hensman to their fate,
to presume that if once done twice could follow his Ship of Crystal Swallow
had risen and moved within worm-lite holes of Simitary, and Causality alone,
alone he had gone, through his dreams and machines of genetic toil, to seed and weed the surrounding Nebula,
dust motes and planetary systems gloating with amino thresholds and di-nucleic disparity,

And behind him, the Apolyte stood, the ground baked as it should beneath a shining twin glare –
and he knew loneliness, and solitude such as a simple Hensman should never bare –
for the God, known by all to be present was not THERE –
and in his place, falling to his feet with his heart a total beat Saw the constant,
Sim-Inity beyond, and vowed to take his people there

“THERE”, shouting, pointing upwards “We will go, and find you our God in Void to let you know –
of your toils worth, your dreams beyond and perhaps, yes even that your experiment is sundered:

Then, far down a crevasse beneath his feet, he sees a glimmer,
a ruin of Gods house withering he clambers down, and searches the ground,
upturns tables an stews rubbish around til all seen is ample and down upon the ground he does find a simple object,
he bends his knees back to reach down – forward
– to grasp – a sharp knife,
a scalpel, the last seen of the genetic Ticking mans sample.

And beyond the hill to where the ship of Crystal not, he walked,
and toiled upon the Land, humble and Disparate against the ideals of his fellows,
whose belief was absolute against tidal shores, greater than any small minded belief of another peoples,
who stood fast to the day of Renouncement that He would be there always, a
nd as fools do, they questioned not the presence of their maker

of this, the Apolyte explained,
and scorn was all his twisted views in their eyes ever gained valley upon valley,
town upon town his ideas were continuously frown open and closed opened and closed til he reached the Edge,
there out in the Waters, a single Isle lay –
“I shall take my heresy to there, til the end of my day” – and with supplication,
with energy and scientific abandon, there he lay down to pray

time passed, the journeys wilted desire becoming tedious,
and the life’s span narrowing with glee and from lands across they did come,
those who had heard and thought and deemed correct this quantum wisdom of terminity and toil,
of against every notion ever held, an imaginative parcel of individuals found
the Apolyte, alone, amongst the Isle free – and knew of what he spoke,
believe and breathed with unabashed freedom

It was there they founded, there they became grounded to science’s folly,
to the quest for Knowledge and the pain it brings,
the fear of learning and the noxious, twisting breathing host of millennial crises that becomes the true Quest,
for within their hands they did find reason, and it was all for the best to grow,
to reach and understand the night, where the stars winked down and told not where the Ticking man sat…

…and within the Nebula he sat, coaxing gas into balls of luminous hyperions.

Thinking, knowing, baring the solitude in splendor,
the surrounding entropy and solar winds beating against his brow,
holding, spawning the multitude of ice-capped pleasures and twisting his fingers around the strings from which he drew –
for after a time, his creation had beset boredom,
and the fragility of microscopic entities angered, abolished notions, dissuaded from existing –

Are not we the sum of our creations, thought he –
and was disgusted, the sum of bickering and war Fraught peril of life and pestilence beset,
mortality of thinking and the dusty dirty mind set of the mundane for all around sat decay and hurt,
not the beauty he began, his Dream turned nightmare or so he believed and ruined,
tortured by his own reckoning, his elemental form rose forth towards Sim-inity to Proclaim

It’s own independence, its own entity, and they stirred full of life,
the gently slip-stream of Hydrogen kind in regal bound, Flaring, recovering, becoming born –
and this was his final gift, new Gods to keep his place
Locked as they were, within their dance, Inity burst full of joy and love – yet, turning -away –
resisting her embrace Sim sat, tortured

“Am I not free!” he screamed and withdrew deeper unto his own self, covering his Face

…there is naught to be done, done is its best – twas time,
and the Crystal ship did progress, onwards, outwards…
inwards, sundering and screaming, smiling and loving, departing, solitary, depending….
conclusions termination….the gently sound of the clock, tick…tock…he found a place to rest and did his best
to sleep and seek, to create and breath and began his game with globes of dust to hide his delusions

..and all the while, his Creation fought..died..lived and sought…

To the brink they had come, through turmoil, war, famine and disease overcome, and they began looking
upwards to wards the stars – and on a fateful day,
one left the sphere launched from an electron flame to weight in naught above the hemisphere –
and in time, others went, and more, more outreaching, uplifting
Forever seeking to travel onwards and outwards, forwards not backwards to find the one whom they wished to blame

And drive them it did, combine them in sorrow and hatred twisting this way, that,
like glass shattered and blown into fragments of pain –
their dead produced dust upon the edge of the Singularity, and Inity did breath Power into their efforts,
whilst Sim did take, steal and rend the very heated beats from their hearts –

He would claw at their Moral and strive to annihilate Love in kind,
for against them his anger knew no bounds,
and he did seethe, vowing to never again,
leave his Seed to awaken and Breath.