If there is any one place in this country to recognize the falseness and inorganic nature of time as a construct, it is Indiana.
What time is it in Indiana? When does the time change in the fall? It really is all relative. And on top of this, living on the border of Illinois, I can drive ten minutes and land myself back in the hour I just thought I had finished in this life. I can drive back and forth between the hours and play god with the linear laws.
Sitting in this cafe in Missouri this morning, it is about 10am. And this means, really, absolutely nothing. The planet just keeps on spinning, as we scramble through the minutiae of our haphazard social politics, attempting to make the endless discrete and convince Timelessness to be harnessed and bounded and reasonable with us. Foolish children.