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November 7, 2009

When I feel depressed, I walk slowly. Really slowly, like the hour hand on a clock. I feel it puts life into perspective, the fickleness of it all. What if I walked this speed everywhere? If I followed my own rhythm and did whatever I felt like doing at the time, I would be late, but what is time? Something humans have invented to measure something immeasurable. What does time mean if we can put the clocks back an hour? The hour doesn't repeat itself, nor does it dissolve into nothing. That means half the year time is a lie...