Would it be too much to confess that I stop and stare at the row of clocks lining the back of the mall's Samsonite store when I shop? I might need to know it's 3 am in Prague while I'm scarfing a cheesesteak on wheat. Might.
I've tackled clocks here before. Since the post on crazy gift clocks and the ones on official government time and John's Clock Shop, I've acquired enough for a Friday show-and-tell:
Tokyo artist Yoshitomo Nara's clock contains 84 unique drawings to cover all 24 hours and 60 minutes needed to cycle through a day.
For those who can't get enough bar codes at the Piggly Wiggly, the bar code clock.
For those who picture time as linear, the line clock.
My favorite internet clock is called Timebeat. Each time the clock is loaded the image shifts. The metaphysical sound effects, buried heartbeat and quasi-Twilight Zone-ish graphics speak to my inner sense of woo-woo.
How does your mind picture the progression of time?
I'll take Nara's "Have A Nice Day" over the thumping, tell-tale Timebeat countdown, thank you.
I have a pretty good internal clock, but I don't know what it looks like.
I almost always buy the simplest clocks and watches I can. I had a brother who used to collect grandfather clocks, and though they were cool I never felt the urge. I do love the sound of all the different kinds of clocks going off in Pink Floyd's "Time."
That barcode clock is fascinating and strange. I was oddly obsessed by it... A part of me couldn't believe it was really going to keep changing digits so I just had to keep staring at it...
My internal clock doesn't look like that (unfortunately, I think), and I have different ways of picturing time depending on if I'm considering the hour/minute vs. week vs. month or year--meaning, it's hard to explain and would require me to gesture.
So, um...can I just go look at that weird clock again? Okay, thanks :).
There's something about clocks. I recall feeling a certain fear of grandfather clocks. I recall sitting in a room, myself being quite small, glancing up at the towering dark mahogany. Lots of shadow. Then suddenly, the sounding of gears, the startling sounding of the deep gong to mark the hour, one gong for each hour. Resonant. Terrifying.
Dear God...how did I become so neurotic.