A "day" is an interesting concept, and its examination quite informative. Consider : intuitively a day is very self-obviously defined : from whence the natural light emerges until such a time as it dies down, there's a day. Then there's a night. Yes ? "Simple" enough.
But then, a "day" actually includes the day and the night. When you say "days of our lives" you don't thereby exclude the nights of our deaths (and birthsi), do you. You'd like to, of course, you aim and intend to so exclude (hence the "inexplicable" ambiguity that isn't either inexplicable or ambiguous), but you nevertheless don't. So a day is since when the light emerges until... the same time, the next day. Nice, circular, the not-so-simple products of simple minds trying for very simple things that can't, necessarily, ever exist.
Leaving aside how there is no such thing as "the same time, the next day" nor ever could there be, ignoring this gaping, teethy void of "the same time, when ?" there's still the problem of... the same time where. Because nobody knows, obviously, there's no such thing as "everywhere" anymore than there's such a thing as "everyone else". So... where ?
Some see the rider, some see the mare, "here, a line in the sand, wonder of wonders, creation of creations, here's the very where" etcetera. The substantial, the indelibly portentuous advantage of majesty is that one doesn't need the herd for anything, lines in the sand included. From atop an unassailable peak of "bitch, more people read me than anyone else in the history of reading" I can readily afford aroganteii such as, looky here :
A peak is very plainly, self-obviously, as if by itself defined : that hour which is surrounded by neighbours on the same sideiii is a peak. If both are under, it is a top. If both are over, it is a bottom. Simple enough, for once. Don't you find ?
The pattern then defines the days, unchanging, unyielding, perpetual : six hours from the major bottom, there's another, lesser bottom. Then in another three hours there'll be yet another, even lesser bottom, and thereby in another four the slightest bottom of them all. Then in another ten hours, the major bottom comes again, and there you go : the peaks of the day define the very concept. This is what a day is : this succession of bottoms.
Or, if you're male and thus naturally preffer a discussion of tops, there's also four : a great big one, five hours later a precipituous one, four hours thence another one and then in another four yet another one. Then the great big one comes again in another ten hours, and that's your day : any one of the endlessly repeated pattern.
This is the heartbeat of the day, self-similar and self-diverse like any other heartbeat, like any other natural process, supposedly endless (though it won't last), supposedly changing (though truly unchanged), supposedly...———
- One of the principal points in which I'm similar to most everyone else is that I also was born at night -- or rather, like most everyone else, as the night was palpitating into dayhood. [↩]
- It occurs to me I naturally know things nobody else is in a position to know, things such as "what operating systems / browser versions do people use" and so on, for the very simple reason that while there might be technical chokepoints through which more signals rush on their expressway to nowhere, there's no actual destinations anywhere near comparable. Historically the bible held a similar position in the Western world : while apparently more heads of human cattle rushed by the Lido and through the Gibraltar straight, under the groin of the already collapsed Colossus of Rhodes or by the overabundant skirts of La Liberté eclairant le monde soon to collapse as well, nevertheless those things they were just going by, on their way to it. Whether the bible is all that much of a destination or indeed in any estimation a thing worth reaching is an unimportant matter you're not qualified to discuss ; you might as well fret and struggle to establish whether you personally, insignificantly approve Trilema should be the center of your, and everyone else's, days. The point remains, firmly outside your limited reach, that this is the most read thing there is ; and while objects such as persay the top level dns servers do indeed receive more meaningless connections, you can't coallesce a large pile of meaningless iota into some sort of larger-meaning with which to somehow magically unseat the very root of meaning in the world. I well understand what habits promote such temptation, it's self-evident of what malpractices such hubris stems, but that doesn't change it being necessarily doomed to failure (not to mention laughable).
It occurs to me I naturally know things nobody else is in a position to know, which means I could publish them ; and on the same pass it occurs to me that whatever I chose is dispositive, seeing how no one else can. Perhaps I will, I guess I might as well... Why should they die quietly, unknown ? Certainly they should not die quietly unknown merely so the impossibly inflated egos of the moron cloud are not forced upon the needle of their unremarkable inconsequence by footnotes such as this. [↩]
- Updownside, not sideside, duh. Isn't this fuckheaded language something else ? [↩]