Interlude: Tom Robbins’ irrational clock
It’s just a bunch of junk. Garbage can lids and old saucepans and lard tins and car fenders, all wired together way down in the middle of the Siwash cave. Every now and then, this contraption moves – a bat will fly into it, a rock will fall on it, an updraft will catch it, a wire will rust through, or it’ll just move for no apparently logical reason – and one part of it will hit against another part. And it’ll go bonk or poing and that bonk or that poing will echo throughout the caverns. It might go bonk or poing five times in a row. Then a pause; then one more time. After that, it might be silent for a day or two, maybe a month. Then the clock’ll strike again, say twice. Following that there could be silence for an entire year – or just a minute or so. Then, POING! so loud you nearly jump out of your skin. And that’s the way it goes. Striking freely, crazily, at odd intervals.
-From Even Cowgirls Get the Blues