Marcel {🌳}
Worms don’t come
Worms don’t come easy
Worms don’t come easy, to me


Here is a book Lying on a table.
Open It.
Look at the first page.
Measure its thickness.
It is very thick indeed for a single sheet of paper
— one half inch thick.
Now turn the second page of the book.
How thick is this second sheet of paper?
One fourth inch thick.
And the third page of the book, how thick is this third sheet of paper?
One eighth inch thick, etc.
Ad infinitum.


    Andy {🐛}
In a small town in Holland they design books with one blank page hidden someplace in the volume 🍞. If the reader opens to that page and it’s six o’clock in the afternoon, he dies.



Preamble to the Instructions
on How to Wind a ⏳


    Stephen {📚}
Think of this: When they present you with a ⏳ they are gifting you with a tiny flowering hell, a wreath of roses, a dungeon of air. They aren’t simply wishing the ⏳ on you, and many more, and we hope it will last you, it’s a good brand, Swiss, seventeen rubies; they aren’t just giving you this minute stonecutter which will bind you by the wrist and walk along with you.
They are giving you—they don’t know it, it’s terrible that they don’t know it—they are gifting you with a new, fragile, and precarious piece of yourself, something that’s yours but not a part of your body, that you have to strap to your body like your belt, like a tiny, furious bit of some­thing hanging onto your wrist. They gift you with the job of having to wind it every day, an obligation to wind it, so that it goes on being a ⏳; they gift you with the obsession of looking into jewelry-shop windows to check the exact time, check the radio announcer, check the telephone service.
They give you the gift of fear, some­one will steal it from you, it’ll fall on the street and get broken. They give you the gift of your trademark and the assurance that it’s a trademark better than the others, they gift you with the impulse to compare your ⏳ with other ⏳⏳. They aren’t giving you a ⏳, you are the gift, they’re giving you yourself for the ⏳’s birthday.

How did it get so late so soon?

It’s night before

it’s afternoon.

December is here before it’s June.

My goodness how the

time has flewn.

How did it get so late so soon?

    Marcel {🌳}
Because I know time is always time.
And space is always and only space.

Instructions on How to Wind a ⏳


    Alison {👁️👁️}
Death stands there in the background, but don’t be afraid. Hold the ⏳ down with one hand, take the stem in two fingers, and rotate it smoothly. Now another installment of time opens, trees spread their leaves, boats run races, like a fan time continues filling with itself, and from that burgeon the air, the breezes of earth, the shadow of a woman, the sweet smell of bread.
What did you expect, what more do you want? Quickly. strap it to your wrist, let it tick away in freedom, imitate it greedily. Fear will rust all the rubies, everything that could happen to it and was forgotten is about to corrode the ⏳’s veins, cankering the cold blood and its tiny rubies. And death is there in the background, we must run to arrive beforehand and understand it’s already unimportant.

Close the book.
Turn it over so that the front cover of the book is now lying face down upon the table.
Now, slowly lift the back cover of the book with the aim of exposing to view the stack of pages lying beneath it.
There is nothing to see.
For there is no last page in the book to meet our gaze.


👁️  👁️
🌳 🐛  🕳️  🕳️  🐛 📚