Seriously. What crazed mind decided that every single micro second of each day had to have a number assigned to it? Right now the clock reads 12:14…who in their infinite wisdom decided that this precise moment of this day and all the days throughout the existence of the universe was twelve fourteen? Why not 36? or 129? or Q? or garden rat wrinkle? why “twelve fourteen”?
Thinking back pre-clock, what pre-historic wack job looked at a phallic shaped rock casting a shadow in the dirt and said to him (or her) self, “Hmm …I call this 3.” or I guess may be III to be roman numerically correct. But why does there have to be a numeric designation to existence? I can’t imagine the inspiration behind that. If I go to the beach at dusk…my favorite time…and stand on the pier watching the waves roll in, the first thing on my mind is not, “That’s it! Seven Eighteen! It’s perfect.”
I have to believe some evil Phoenician slave driver devised a system to keep all his sheep droids from wandering aimlessly when they should have been dragging massive boulders to the sacrificial temple. “You will be here when the shadow of the dick rock (rhyming slang ‘tick-tock’??) points toward Canaan.”
“What happens if it’s cloudy?”
“Oh, hell..call it 8. And rip his tongue out for speaking back, slave-dog.”
no. i’m not on drugs…just really tired…….