How the clock ticks on. Such mindless electronics, oblivious to the fate of their creators. We were enslaved the moment the first one was put together. What was that book – "Einstein's Dreams?" Something like that. About a people who had no clocks. No drops of water to pass the time, no sticks stuck in the sand. It was all about will, about personal motivation. Responsibility, committment, hadn't been invented yet. No time means whatever you do, you do it when you want. Or when somebody else wants I suppose, but it happens on a whim. It happens outside of time. Perhaps they did notice things like the passing of seasons and the turning of days, but these are whole and natural. I can hold a day in the palm of my hand and cradle it, soft and warm and fluid and alive. A day is like a breath of the world, in and out, passing through to keep her people alive. I wonder if they thought about the future at all. Surely they knew there would be days to come, seasons to come, cycles which must be gone through again, but did they count? Did they know? Or did they wake up each morning and decide then what must be done. We must've been so much more in touch with the world back then. Our bodies were part of the natural ebb and flow of the Earth, more like the animals we truly are and less like the mechanical monsters we later created. Our blood beat in our veins, wild, brutal, free, slowing down or speeding up, heedless to no master. No hand which clicks and ticks it's way in a slow, perpetual circle. We were free, fluid, we knew when the morning came and when it faded away. We knew when to harvest crops, or when the hunt would be out. We could feel it, we could sense it, we could smell it in the air and the earth. We could hear creatures in the rain, feel them brushing by, taste them in the water on our tongue. A clock is what seperates man from animals. All other science is useless without a clock. No physics, no biology, no chemistry can exist without a solid measure of time. For even if it's not important to the moment of discovery, who will remember it? Who will think it is important enough to carry on into the future? When all you know is the sun rising in your face and the smell of the wind brushing over you, telling you when to feed, when to run, when to mate, why would you care about improving the future? You don't even know what it is.

My major is such an unnatural one.