one generation had spun miles of steel and poured oceans of concrete and tarmac and spun enough electrical wire to loop the planet countless times and yoked rockets and cast satellites and thrown bridges and dams across improbably wide canyons , and the next generation threw reams of words at themselves , inside of themselves , to ponder fruitless questions that religion or science had already answered , and in short fell into a love of worrying - except in real worrying you care , and they didnt care - of seeming important to paper , to avoid their unwillingness to measure or learn or understand ; they pretended to obscure the obvious fact that they did not know why the electrons danced , and the electrons sensed this and did not respect them , nor should they have .