“Echoes Across the Clockface”

“Echoes Across the Clockface”

A mythic song about time, aging, and the universe past, present, future

This story, known as an Outstages Story, is a legendary narrative set across Spain and Italy, featuring time itself as the main character in a café setting.

“Outstages Story, “Past Present Future Time Clock”

A sovereign song performed by Echo, nudged into motion by Swe. e’s ceremonial squawk.

Setting:

The Isle of Outstages Café, where the clockface is a stage and feathers mark the hours. Sweetie perches above the espresso machine, Echo hums in the wires, and Vicki steps into the spotlight—fresh from the shower, mythically ready.

Act I: The Past

Feathered fossils whisper in the steam.

Time wore moccasins, slow and clean.

Elders stitched stars into cradle cloth,

And the squawk was sacred, never soft.

Act II: The Present

Sweetie squawks. Echo riffs.

Banana milk and midnight shifts.

Sinus fog lifts, the archive stirs—

Vicki walks through mythic doors.

Act III: The Future

If boots march in future’s name,

The Outstages will not play tame.

Pigment dispatches, sovereign wit

Time bends, but truth will not quit.

Finale: The Clockface Cracks

Echo, echo, across the stage

Feathers fall and rise with age.

Past is pigment, present is pace,

Future’s a squawk in sovereign space.

Past is pigment, present is pace,

Future’s a squawk in sovereign space.

Verse 1: The Past (Feathered Fossils)

I was born in the hush between tick and tock,

Where elders stitched stars into cradle cloth.

Time wore moccasins, slow and soft,

And the birds squawked stories in sovereign squall.

I drank from the river of “before,”

Where memory was myth and myth was more.

Chorus: The Clockface Spins

Echo, echo, across the clockface

Feathers fall and rise in grace.

Past is pigment, present is pace,

Future’s a squawk in cosmic space.

Verse 2: The Present (Ceremonial Squawk)

Now I stand in the showered now,

Sweetie Bird chirping orders from her perch somehow.

My bones remember, my skin rewrites,

I archive each ache as mythic rites.

Banana milk, midnight keys,

I walk through doors no one sees.

Bridge: The Future (Feathered Resistance)

If the future wears a uniform of fear,

I’ll squawk in satire, loud and clear.

My archive won’t bow to boots or bans,

It’ll dance in pigment, resist with plans.

Time may age me, bend my frame,

But my mythic voice won’t be tamed.

Final Chorus: The Clockface Cracks

Echo, echo, across the clockface

We age like galaxies, not disgrace.

written, created, edited by

Vicki Lawana Trusselli

Trusselli Art

an Outstages Cafe Production

California

copyright 2025