For Krystle, an Angel Driven Away

Our system of measuring time is totally illogical, and may in fact be the stonewall keeping most of us from understanding modern physical assessments and definitions of the dimension we occupy.
Today "is" June 4, 2010.
On June 4, 2009, at about 10:40PM, in front of her darkened home, wrapped in a black shawl against a cool night, 14-year-old Krystle Danae Gingerich stepped into the path of an animal-transport semi-trailer rig, rather than face once again what waited for her in her own home, the kind of horror and degradation which should be the bane of any god, and never expected in the Amish Community.
That very community, with its literal interpretation of a book rewritten a hundred, a thousand times over the Centuries, at the whim and whimsy of anyone in position to direct a redaction, a deletion, an addition, a complete overhaul, left a muddled document with the Big X intact, but open to enough speculation to keep televangelists and other firebreathers, and that beached whale of the christian world, the catholic church, at sea for over 2000 years.
Along the way some moron gave "man" dominion over everything on earth - birds of the air, fishes of the seas, beasts of the lands, women. "Go forth and multiply." Well, we have. Billions upon billions, using the land and its resources as if our goal is to reduce the earth to sand. And very soon.
We are proceeding nicely apace.
And we are determining which of the Big X means more than the others.
Christian Nations waged the most lethal wars in the last 200 years, as we continue to become more efficient warriors. Some Christian Nations, even in the face of the unequivocally worded "Thall Shalt Not Kill" regularly exercise a death penalty.
"Honor Thy Father and Mother" is a joke.
The commandment isn't TO "Bear False Witness".
And somehow, in all this "confusion", Wesley Gingerich, a god-fearing amishman, raped and sodomized and humiliated his baby daughter until, a year ago, she found refuge under eighteen wheels.
Time has been routinely posited as another dimension, yet we cannot measure time in the most rudimentary sense.
The most pressing need is to measure night and day, but night and day are the same length only two times a year, and not where you are.
There is the year: a measure of the time it takes the earth to circumnavigate the sun, 52 weeks, 365 days.
But yesterday, Thursday, was the night Krystle died, June 4, 2009. So today is the anniversary, one year later, because there are 365 days required to make an orbit of the sun. But it takes 365 1/4 days to circumscribe the sun, so every fourth year, we have to add a day.
There are 12 months, each approximating a period of the moon.
But the months range over 4 different totals of days, none of which equal the 27 1/3 days it takes the moon to orbit the earth. So there are 12 months but 13 "full" moons, except in leap year, when there are 14. The hours in a day, which don't effectively measure the light/dark of a day, which changes every day, are made up of hours, which, actually, don't mean much. There are sixty minutes in an hour and sixty seconds in a minute, for no reason I know of. Much past cooking stuff, which should always be done to temperature anyway, neither seems to have intrinsic merit. Tenths and hundredths and thousandsths of a second are required for clocking most sporting activities.
The Official Clock used to be calibrated on the growth rate of hair on a lamb's testicular sac on a hill overlooking Dunforth, Scotland.
Okay I made that up. Now it's measured by rate of decay of a single aluminum atom. It is, according to NIST (National Institute of Standards and Technology) accurate to plus/minus 1 second in 3.7 billion years. Which should tell you everything you need to know about our "time". It is precise to about half the age of the earth, and apropos of absolutely nothing.
So if you have even a clue what time it is, or the date, or the Century, forget string theory.
You ain't gonna get it.

A beautiful blonde baby has been in the ground a year.
She can forget about justice. She ain't gonna get any.
Rest In Peace, Sweetest Princess. There was none in your life.