In the imagination, time is a god- a vast, immutable container that all things somehow rest in or move through. Outside the imagination, time is a vast failure to exist- a trail of things being continually other than themselves. We measure time by a change of place, and therefore the most perfect clock is what has never been in a place, and never will be. What place is the earth at? No actual one. If we consider just the place, which is the only relevant feature in considering the time, then the most perfect revelation of time is a revelation of what is most perfectly inactual: a inactual trail unto an inactual destination, without the trail or destination.