#old clock

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Peter Spankoffski from Nerdy Prudes Must Die moodboard with brown dark academia inspo

requested by: no one, self indulgent

[divider creds: @saradika-graphics] [bg creds: @abyslita] [png creds: @aquazero]

(all images were found on Google images)

song to go with it: 'Reflections' by Toshifumi Hinata

Reblogs are appreciated, requests are open!!

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Source: Liz Marie

ℍ𝐚𝓵ｌ נ𝐀 𝔳คĻǤẸ

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[weepingfoxfury]

Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday ... yep, it's another fun fun day in Tuesdayville ...

Meet Morple ... the no tick and no tock clock. Also present and correct and silent as the grave are Gladys Jones and Father Llewellyn ... but their wordless sermons are something to talk about another day.

I remembered something yesterday that my grandparents sang to me when I was little ... (My) Grandfather's Clock, written by Henry Clay Work around 1876. That is to say, I could at least remember the chorus:

"Ninety years without slumbering, tick, tock, tick, tock ... His life seconds numbering, tick, tock, tick ... It stopped short, never to go again, when the old man died."

I remember the old pendulum wall clock that they had ... the hiss of the gas fire ... the sounds of their afternoon nap ... time having slowed as though moving through treacle.

No clock ticks or tocks in this house, though there are many of them. When Morple arrived, he would tick and tock for a couple of hours and then have a ponder about the time that had passed ... before starting up again for another couple of hours. Back in March he ceased to mark time at all. Now he's the right time twice a day and that's about all he has to say on the matter.

He came from the home of an old gentleman that had gone into a nursing home, and Morple was here some months before his hands lay still. I often wonder, as I sit in the kitchen with only the hum of the fridge for company, whether his sudden complete silence marked the passing of his original owner ...

[rotinmycore]

where are you supposed to be?

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My photography, please leave credit. :)

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Old Clock and Candle Light

This clock was given to my grandmother in 1923.

[weepingfoxfury]

Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday ... another Tuesday in Tuesdayville ...

Mesmerings ...

I wake to find myself on a mostly empty plane. The air hostesses are pushing their carts up and down the aisles, stopping at every row of seats regardless of occupancy. I am seated next to a man whose face I cannot see beneath the brim of his hat. There's a smiling couple seated together adjacent to me in the centre aisle ... and a single, worried looking female gazing put of the window in the far aisle.

I look to my left and am startled to see a seat strapped to the wing. A lone female is tied into it. I know I need to talk to her and try desperately to get her attention. I then become aware of a man smoking at the front of the plane. He's sweating and fidgety.

The man next to me turns slightly and says "Tell me about the time." I'm puzzled. "The time?" I reply. "Yes, the time." I don't understand. I tilt my head and with a half laugh say "The Radio Times?" He shakes his head, "No ... the time." I think hard, my eyes darting. "The Times? The newspaper?" He lowers his head slightly. "No ... the time ... tell me about the time."

I'm distracted by the air hostess offering drinks to the centre aisle couple. I'm startled to realise the man with the hat is pulling down the blind so I can't see the girl on the wing. I try to stop him, but find myself unable to do so. I realise that all the blinds on the plane are now down.

The smoking man approaches. "Here, hold this!" He hands me his half smoked cigarette and disappears to the back of the plane. I hold it upright to try to slow it's burning. The ash slowly forms. We hit a patch of turbulence and I struggle to stay seated. The ash is tumbling, flake by flake by flake.

The man grips the wrist of my hand. The cigarette has almost burnt down. "Tell me about the time!" he screams at me ...