Physicists tell us that time is, contrary to perceived wisdom, not an everyday forward motion in a three dimensional space, but an encompassing medium in which we reside. Time has no direction, or every direction in the mathematics that explore the realms beyond our current understanding. The tiny sub atomic stuff that violates the laws of classical physics. Yet forward like a stream to the sea we move.
Moments behind us.
Atoms are our core, they whizz randomly, they vibrate, they change, interchange, they are here.. and there, in fact we are told our atoms have counterparts- an opposite value charge, characteristic, but linked via cosmic strings.
Parallel, an interesting geometric concept, two lines travel forever, and never shall meet.
In the catastrophic last moments approaching the event horizon of a black hole, do these pathways stay illusive to contact. Is this gravitational force powerless to interact on theoretical mathematical geometric states.
Do we have a real world paradigm, that would allow the crazed proponents of ‘mine is an interesting idea_Please publish’ to vindicate in some real sense the complexities that stir the imagination of the average, (in perpetual flux) person.
Was just getting confused.
It is not for me to say about the validity of this, but the animation is nice.
Cycles and Harmonies
The Sun Solar Glow
The Sun is:
- about 4.5 billion years old now.
- Presently somewhere in between an 8 and a 14 year sun spot cycle. (giggle)
What is a billion anyway, is that 100 million, or more?..
It is more, many more, a thousand million, or 109
lots of zeros 1,000,000,000 in truth a very old celestial being, although not that old in comparison with neighbors of similar cosmic origins. The point in all this being that the dynamics of the sun are now increasingly thought to be of influence in the atmosphere and subsequent temperature of this planet.
You know, I was just reading about this possible effect, and that some are beginning to think that ‘it’ might have an influence. Shit me, for not thinking of that.
Now before you get your lawn mowers out, or switch to 4 wheel drive and cruise the sand-dunes, we do have a responsibility.
Just spent the last 10 minutes looking for baby jaguar, and I have only been out of bed for 10 minutes
I assured Molly that he would turn up, that he had just gone for a walk, but she was adamant and a full rescue party was to be mounted.
My first and gut instinct was that he may have been extracted from his jungle romps with Diego and Dora by the much feared giant material extractor from the sky.
Having sufficiently shaken the vacuum cleaner for evidence of the little people, and having satisfied myself they were not to be found in such a monstrous place the search resumed in earnest around the landing party of Peppa pig and Danny dog.
A delicate situation was unfolding.
Having only recently recovered from the disappearance of Danny Dog, after his two day away mission in the dusty realm of sub sofa prime, we checked to see if they had news of the errant feline.
From their now elevated position Peppa, Danny and little George could survey the mass wastelands known to many as Chaotic space, or to few as the lounge, and a glimmer of hope was observed on the face of George.
Across the realm, in the distance could be seen the Nirvana-esque dwelling known as the animal rescue center, and strolling around the back balcony was baby jaguar. He wasn’t lost at all, he had been home all along.
Order has been restored to chaotic space for now, but a massive paddy wave is approaching, and is likely to shred the very fabric of reality itself.
One of many I persist.
I remain, for my graduation is still a shadowed perception,
a quantum state reaction.
My action, guided by philosophical retraction
Crossed transversed parallel abstraction.
Tis me my mind I share not with,
who doubt
clouds be clouds with unknown fluffiness
speak of whole, a whetted soul
For if I shout, may not my house
come down with some unearthly curse.
Does seem that way in modern day,
We speak not more for fear of war.
We dwell, exist, sweep the floor,
and time our days to endure..
We just arrived back last week from a city break in Palma Mallorca, and as well as enjoying the many and varied restaurants and bars the city has a rich historical side. One of the many attractions for visitors is the castle situated at the top of mount Bellver.
The castle unique throughout spain due to it’s circular structure, has three towers integrated into the main structure, and a forth one called the Homenaje, or Homage tower.
The Homage tower separated from the castle by seven meters is now connected by a bridge which was built at a later date.
On the inside the castle has a circular parade ground surrounded by rooms over two levels. On the second floor structured around a gallery with 42 octagonal columns which support ogival arches is the chapel dedicated to Sant Marc.
King Jaume ll of Mallorca ordered the construction in the 14th century. The work was commissioned to Pere Salva.
Looking out now across the harbour at the bustling city it is only a small shift in perception to cast your imagination back into older more turbulent times.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.’
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,’
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!’
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!’
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.’
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never-nevermore.”‘
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
How you got there
Funny how you travel in cyberville, with a search to find above poem I found myself doing another search on “Quoth” and ended up here Navigated to here via random connectedness, and ultimately to here where I spent a good time listing to scientific tunes. Very entertaining.
I should be doing anything else really, but was caught, hooked and thought any that pass this way might like to share the experience.
Why then do I struggle more to find my individual concept, than I would when faced with a design criteria placed upon me by a client.
I think from a designers perspective to present oneself becomes a far more daunting task, than to create something when given the desired constraints of a client.
I know my abilities, and that of my competitors, that is indeed the crux. When every word you write is cold hard screen media, the decisions you make directly relate to your on screen presence.
I have my blog, if you are reading this, you are here. This is my experimental zone, and does not translate well into a marketing strategy, or first impressions presence for potential clients who are looking for a website to project there product to the internet savvy world.
I have been sat on ‘oikofugic.com’ for almost a year now, with the
desire to promote my skills as a web site designer in the southport area.
I am on my way, make space. Remember Oikofugic.com is on it’s way. My /blog is a temporary stocking filler.. Stay tuned..
Elders playing an organistrum
Santiago de Compostela, Spain
Hurdy Gurdy man. Steve Hillage. I am so going to buy music by this guy. I used to have motivation radio on tape, remember those. Didn’t know who made the album at the time, just its name written on it. Never bothered to check it out. Until now a forgotten memory. Brought flooding back Cheers LastFM, how the cassette got into my possession, I can’t remember.
Currently listening to anonymous two by Focus, it’s a 20min+ musical experience and I’m livin’ it.
A pic from gig in Leeds mid1990s (Ish)
Daevid Allen
It seems Steve Hillage was a member of gong in the early days before going off to do his own stuff, didn’t know any of the details, It was all about the tunes. Nothing else remains.
And now to bring this all to a tidy end… erm link if you still are wondering what the hell is a hurdy gurdy.
It’s all about the styling, the self correcting spellings the evolutionary leap.
I could sit and ponder those words for too long.
You know I wouldn’t mind, i have fed the cats and they are still prowling around.
I have got a fresh corel photopaint pallet, I am going to attempt to record my progress. And I’m going to do the blinds as well.
Remembering that css is only nice if you are a hot designer.
Gone for width 779 height 400 pixels white background.
The photo paint print screen paradox. Difficult to imagine unless you are working in corel on a print screen graphic of corel.
Just having a bit of trouble uploading pic.
Apologies, I didn’t really fulfill my my commitment to teaching tutorial there. It is just my spontaneous nature, ha ha. Besides in reality it would take ages, a picture to describe the fountain fill, angle of rotation. A select font picture followed by perspective. It could become tedious. Instead I give you the finished graphic in all its splendor. behold Oikofugic Magic
Out in Southport for the evening. Felt like a bloody tourist. Some pics
Check out the being driving the car in the front of photograph.
He definitely saw me. That I saw him you understand.
Luckily the camera captures the true essence of the grey, because to most they appear just like anyone else, but make no mistake.. they are amongst us..
Fortunate to have camera ready. For more info: below.
