Time was, once upon a time, pieces had arms. No glows, no snoozing, just spindly hands spinning round and round. Light or dark, watched or not, spinning round.
The big hand's a little past twelve. The little hand's on eleven. You used to have to think about time, telling time.
These days, numbers glowing or dark contrasted against light, you just know. There's no more telling to time.
Literate people talk. They talk about all kinds of things. Practical, whimsy, logical, creative it's all the same: talk.
Want literate people? We have to talk to each other. Any medium is fair game. Books, YouTube, Skype it's all the same. Talk.