This clock is a philoophy about time and a clock , my clock, based on my personal quests. On the rhytmm of a song, with young people dancing, moving in different periods of accepted time, becoming graphic lines,partly anonymous forming the unpredicatable line of the arrows pointing out a way of time.
It makes us realize that we can make other appointments with time, looking for personal structures and patterns, as time itself moves the way it likes.
Time as a cinematic travell in time, remembering, forgetting, being delayed, playbacked, manipulated and still these young people in this clock dance and move towards time, backwards in time, being confronted with other times, being caught, forever, whater that means in my personal time.
Start the film, wing up this clock and awaken it in the beginning of an hour in time we know:
N A N D O P O L I S. C L O C K
The nandopolis clock
ticks in my mind
in the north of italy
village drifting almost
in a mystical blue sea
Like a beautiful boat
made of tree,brick,people,
thoughts
absence
presence
harbouring a circle small square
where people seem to sing
and cry at the same time
…..
the nandopolis clock
based
on character and name
of a friend
a familymember,
a dog,
watching over valleys
and life
at a
mountain ridge
like Caspar did
Coloured like a cow,
stubborn as its master,
loving as any woman
on a classical painting
which comes to mind.
If i talk about
my work
i talk in
riddles
in personal poems
sculpturing themselves
in the laboratory
of my cinema head.
My words difine my ultimate image
at least i try
in the biggest freedom
i can subscribe it
as a nurtured medicine
God is time
Time is god

Dancers of a dessert
Move
on long forgotten
words
Red robes
Of
Fugitive
Forgotten

Timeless
Words
Screaming thoughts
That sigh
on waves of
Ancient
Warm winds
When bad
becomes
good again
Forgetting
the bad
of the good

Apparant greatness
Caught
By pale riders

Is there power


*The thought of slowly killing
a family member
Is worth one poem

The thought of slowly killing
a family member
has lost its Intention

The thought of slowly killing
a family member
has lost its meaning
Time fell out of love
with the concept
Given birth
in a young tormented soul
On a misplaced
Queeste for
Justice
The idea loved
hated now
Sweat sweats
no more
Smells no more
Dried up
lost its stench

Time is godly
Impulsive
Naive
Guilty innocent
Ignorant in vanity
Lost to be found
In a pocket
of an old pair of pants
Time left its shoes
If it owned them
In the broken fridge
Of misleaded history
Prove is fiction of facts

To comprehend
This words
One has to
Murder
Meaning

In

Just a stupid street


Ran over by time
Time
Time, time,time
Poem that doesn’t rhyme
True language though as
Beyond Babel grows yes

Isn ‘t it obvious
That there is a reason
To believe that
When We
Search For
And Look
At
And Find
Time
There are fixed moments
In which we establish
to connect With,
for sure time itself,
like11:11 or 19:45
And many more
As if
At that instant
Magic happens
Or can and or will
If we understand
The message of time itself
Like an intense interdimensional
Lightweight white willing capsule
Proclaiming
The profound
Telegrammic time
essence itself
Time is talking then
And we maybe
still are in a
babelonic phase
Of realizing it
Being sensitive
without
comprehending
Time at that fraction
Is a monumental
swallowing
Little big space
located
In time itself
Not horizontal
Nor vertical
But monumental
As massive As
marble sculpture
Whispering
an amazing
untold
answer
In frozen wind

Is this
Beginning or end
Or do we
Just have
to state
That these words
Are meaningless
And for sure
Without
Any time

As time is
Truelly
our god
a creator
The
only
one

For
Every
One
As
Our creator
is time

The sole
Uncaged
Immaterial
Entity
Needing no space
As vice versa
Space needing it
Eliminating
The existential
Question
The queeste
For a well
The source
And heritage
The origine
Space without a face
A face without space
An
enormous
Identity
Of
Presence

Time
Existence
God
Birth
Give
Birth
To birth
Being
Born
As birth
We are drops
Of time
Water shaped
Ambitious Sighs
Of the sculptor
In born birth reborn
Virus in beauty
Beauty in virus
no imperial
destruction
Just immoral
creation
Which
Makes Mankind
A palette of time
The celluloid
Of film
Humanity times’
Cinema Canvas
Time owns everything
We fortunately nothing
The fraction
Of awareness
The illusion
of existence
The desillusion
of meaning
This is true freedom
A space where time
Can be understood
The rope of enlightenment
Just before the dark

Frank Stassar
Song: TIME Tom Waits original sung by the Artist