I fly through this realm on wings and padded paws and am guided by the turning of the planets through the stars and galaxies in a time that is both blood like and crystallized. I measure my time through seasons and sunrises not by the man-made constrictions of atomic decay and precision. My precision is the knowledge that the sun will rise and the leaves will turn red and the snow will cover my garden and seeds will sleep until Spring. My Gothic senses require no second-hand to tick tock tick to remind me of events and honor my promises for I follow the beating of my heart.

Hourglasses delight as jeweled timepieces with gears and pins and silver springs in a testament to the skills and patience of the craftsmen and their ideas that grow so sparsely upon this world of mediocrity. I gather my watches and clocks to remind me of the potential beauty in the science of artistic manifesting of the measure of time. Adorning my limbs and my lair with the patterns and polished sculptures that attempt to capture the fleeting flocks of time.

This candle I hold is slowly softening and shortening with thickening falls of wax around the granite foundations of my home. Marching boots clicking across marble mosaics have been wrought by Druids and polished by Vampires and so to honor their time spent creating the smokey den where I amuse myself watching the peasants danced in their commercialized and cloned existence. My time keeps me steady. The heart beat has no measure but I need reminding.