I am busy working on my daily schedule of tasks (I feel like a machine). Somebody starts poking me from behind, saying, "Hey bud, speed it up, work faster, you're too slow." Without turning around I yell, "I am working faster!" He keeps poking me and repeating the same words. So I swing around, my hand thrusting out to repel his poking, when in mid-swing I look down and notice my hand is not a hand, but a long shiny object that connects to my elbow. It is a sword. My swing continues and strikes the hand that is poking me. However it is not a hand. It is a sword too. His sword is actually a minute hand and the person who is poking me is a giant clock. We engage in battle. Our swords clank loudly each time they strike sending sparks into the air. We battle for hours. I eventually knock him down. He does not get up, but he keeps on ticking. I walk away and remark with disgust, "You've wasted my time." I go to the bathroom to clean up. I look into the mirror and I see;
a clock!

The artworks in "The Clash Of My Times" are about my real or imagined or dreamed or daydreamed conflicts or struggles or battles or wars involving time or time clocks.