XKCD comics that remind me of me

All material from www.xkcd.com and listed in order of resemblance:
(sorry some are too small to read: click to enlarge)

The Trip to and from Austin

I traveled down to Las Vegas New Mexico the first night and stayed in a hotel there.  The hotel that was featured in No Country for Old Men which was pretty neat but the hotel was exactly as seedy as the movie made it look so there was that too.  The restaurant I ate at was hilarious to me: I felt like I was in a Judd Apatow film the entire time.  It started when I walked in and saw the certificate proudly displaying that the owner was "Les Cox".  I know, very juvenile of me, but that wasn't the end.  A table of incredibly overweight guys who were clearly policemen discussing weaponry they shot in their free time and run-ins they've had manhandling Mexicans.   My waitress who appeared to be 17, very attractive, and slightly dumber than the doorknob she couldn't seem to figure out how to work (it required the application of a torque as it turns out).

The next day I continued on to Carlsbad Caverns at the very South end of New Mexico.  There I stopped to walk down into and out of the main attraction.  It was so much more than I anticipated, or was really capable of imagining.  It's a little over a mile walk into the main cavern itself; the hike seems to be straight down and along the way there are a myriad of amazing sights.  The main cavern is simply past believing and was a wonder to behold.  I took pictures even though I knew it was too dark for any to turn out (there are artificial lights though-out as natural light disappears only a few hundred yards in, but that's no where near enough light).  I've included one picture that doesn't capture any of the true awe of the real thing but was the best I could do without a tripod.

When I got out I drove down to Guadalupe to camp the night there.  I went into the visitor center to check on the weather for the next day and ended up talking with a ranger about my planned trip.  He clearly didn't have a lot of faith in me as he wrote down my plan, address and phone number so he could notify my next of kin when I died in the attempt.

The night was colder than I expected but I got up at 4:15 anyways and began walking (it took an hour to get up, break down my tent, eat breakfast, etc... so I wasn't on the trail until after 5:00).  I hit the top of Guadalupe itself, the tallest point in Texas, just after sunrise.  This was a nice little hike that was entirely on the trail.  Then it was time to crash my way off-trail and hit the other three peaks I had planned for the day. The views from every one were incredible and I got a lot of great pictures (I spared anyone brave enough to read this and made sure to only include one picture per day, but I have the pictures).  However, the off-trail stuff was kind of rough.  Very thick underbrush and I kept getting pulled off the ridge.  Nevertheless I made it through my four peaks and back down without dying (I let the ranger know, I'm not heartless) and then took off for Big Bend.

I didn't make it that night.  I was falling asleep at the wheel so I stayed in a motel a few hours from Big Bend.  A smart move to be sure but a disappointing one as it kept me from doing the long hike I had planned for the next day (~30+ miles).  In fact I didn't get on the trail until 10:30 I had to be back in time to find a camp site and set-up my tent before dark which happened around 5 or 5:30.  In my rush I was not overly sure how long my walk was and left with only the 3L of water in my camelback and a few candy bars for the trip which ended up being several thousand feet of elevation and over 21 miles.  This turned out not to the be the greatest move ever as I ended up 4.5 miles from the end entirely out of water (and with only one terrible tasting doughnut and some musketeers for energy that day).  All that aside the whole day was on trails so it was fast, the views were, again, spectacular.  I'll only force one image on you but I have a plethora on my hard drive now.  I was disappointed that I didn't really capture the openness of the rim I hit, but I still got some good takes and I'll always have my memory.  Big Bend is quite isolated but if there's ever a chance to get down there, it's worth a visit!

The next day I woke around 5 to go for a short, morning hike.  I'm not including any pictures of this one (I double up for my final day) but it was pure pain the whole way.  I had to be sure to be down by 12:00 to make it to the wedding dinner I was supposed to be at that night in San Antonio, which is why I left at 5:00am.  I almost didn't make it.  The hike wasn't that long, and at two thousand feet of elevation shouldn't have been a hard one to complete.  The whole thing was off trail and it was the worst off-trail experience of my life.  All the way up was thickets of bushes, or brambles or things I'd never even seen before filled with prickers and points.  Many were taller than me and I almost turned around close to ten times.  I did make my final destination (stubbornness: I has it) but got very cut up in the process.  Lots of blood all over my body which probably didn't look that great at the semi-formal dinner that night.  Though my guess is that the hiking pants I wore probably distracted everyone there enough to keep them from noticing the puncture wounds...

I spent a long time in Austin, longer than I planned, but it was great to see people again.  Texas just isn't my scene but I do miss people.  Quite a bit actually.

Well I wont dwell on it: I eventually started my return journey.  The plan was to spend some time in Bandelier and do some hiking and camping there.  I drove from Austin to Santa Fe in one day which was fine until right near the end it started snowing pretty hard.  It was only supposed to be 1-3" but it was clearly a lot more.  I spent the night in Santa Fe and woke up to find it was still snowing.  The plan was to take two day-hikes that day, camp off the road by Bandelier and do my long hike the following day.  After that I would asses the situation and decide to stay for some more hiking or return home.

Things were dicey from the get-go with the snow.  I was very worried about pulling off for camping or for a more remote hike and getting stuck.  But I started the day as planned.  I drove to White Rock (by Los Alamos) and did a little jaunt there.  At 9 miles it shouldn't have taken me more than 3 hours even in the snow, but it ended up close to four.  It was pretty and I was glad I did it, but I ended up talking sick with some decent nausea en route and simply lost energy and stamina.  Some combination of spitting, coughing and vomiting will slow me down as it turns out.

I decided to plug along and went down to Bandelier for my second hike.  It was quite beautiful and I've included a couple pictures of that.  However, in Bandelier I found a full foot of fresh snow and it was still falling.  My illness was not disappearing, and so I made a depressing but probably necessary choice: I went home.  I figured being sick and camping in a foot of snow was not going to be worth it.  Especially since the hike I really wanted to do there probably wasn't going to be feasible in a foot of snow anyways.  So this is where my trip ended.  Overall a great trip but a sour final note.

10 Moments from the Rockies 2010 Season

They're ordered and everything but my memory isn't good enough to actually say these are the best of the season, they're just what I remember.  Which makes them pretty biased towards the end of the season of course.
10. The 12 Run Eigth
Setting all sorts of club, league, and baseball records the Rockies plated 12 runs during the eigth inning of a game against the Chicago Cubs.  Constitutive hits, extra-base hits, home-runs, they couldn't be stopped.  This was truly a great moment for any Rockies fan.

9. From 10-1 to 12-10, Rockies Stage a Come-Back
Though not done all in one inning like a later entry on this list, this victory is both incredible on its own and holds a special place in my heart as I was there for it!  In fact you can see me (not very clearly) in the linked video of the final catch which ended the game.

8. Jimenez Sets Rockies Strike-Out Record
Perhaps a bitter-sweet moment, Jimenez fanned 10 this game to set the club's season record for strike-outs, as well as pitching 8 shut-out innings.  Unfortunaley the Rockies couldn't seem to score either so Jimenez was denied his 20th win.

7. Gonzalez Triples to Beat the Giants
In a game of great importance Colorado couldn't seem to get on the board.  The top of the 9th and they'd managed to hold the Giants to just one run, but only an inning left to score themselves.  This may not be the cleanest play of the year but an error and a broken-bat triple were enough to give the Rockies the win that night.  A very exciting moment.

6. Rockie's Nine Run Ninth
Down by six runs in the Ninth, the Rockies refuse to say die.  Seth Smith blasted a 3-run homer after they'd come back to tie, and the Rockies take the game in one of the biggest come-backs ever.

5. Eric Young Goes Behind the Back
This was the first of two, behind-the-back plays Young would make in a week's time.  The play itself is enough for selection but it highlights one of two players on the Rockies that are to be looked for in the coming years for their pure speed.  Whenever Young was up and starting at 2nd this year he easily led the majors in stolen bases.  His teammate, Dexter Fowler, had the most triples this season despite having 430 ABs (as compared to number two on the list who had 600).

4. Chris Nelson's Steal of Home
His first major league steal, Chris Nelson plated the go-ahead, and what proved to be by the next half-inning, winning run himself!  An incredibly exciting moment in an important, end-of-the-year game not to mention an incredibly rare feat: a straight steal of home.  Jim Tracy later said he'd called for the suicide and figured Nelson had just screwed up and went too early (and would certainly be caught).  Nelson said he'd timed the pitcher's delivery and knew he never looked to third once he got set.  However it happened, it's a moment to remember.

3. Tulowitzki's September
In the first 16 games he played his average ran to around .400, he had 34 RBIs, 14 HRs and a slugging percentage in excess of 1.100.  This was, statistically, one of the three greatest Septembers in baseball history (and tied a record for most home-runs in a 15 game strech).  This particular highlight is a favorite of mine as it caps off a 7 RBI game.  More amusingly, after hitting his previous home-run that day over the center-field fence, a fan held up a giant poster-board with a target painted on it under the word 'Tulo'.  This home-run, as you can see, lands about two rows shy of the sign.

2. Ubaldo Jimenez Throws the Rockies First No-Hitter
This was certainly the most impressive, single-game performance of the season.  Though he walked six batters he finished off the game by moving into the stretch and just plain dominating.  His last pitch, which took more than 120 to get to, crossed the plate at 98mph: what an outing!

1. Carlos Gonzalez's Walk-Off Cycle
I don't know why this was my favorite moment of the season.  Perhaps it was because it highlighted one of the greatest, if not the greatest players in baseball today who gets so little attention as a result of playing for the (my) Colorado Rockies.  Perhaps because of the dramatic fashion in which it occurred: bottom of the ninth, walk-off home run off the first pitch he sees.  Or perhaps because it was the hardest hit home-run I've seen in years.  Though it didn't make the longest of this year, it might have it it weren't for the fact that it got stopped by the third (third!) deck.

Cereals

I've been revisiting old friends recently.  It's been years since I really dabbled in breakfast cereals, expense and lack of motivation in the morning.  Now with all sorts of time on my hands and the opportunity to eat cereal whenever I please it's been a nice trip down memory lane.

Honeycombs started it all off , several weeks of craving led to the initial purchase that kicked this journey off.    A little more substance than a lot of other sugary treats and a little less sweet (though only in comparison to be sure).  A wonderful beginning.

After that came Apple Jacks; lets face it, the taste is mostly sugar.  The extra little flavor makes for a nice addition.  And a wonderful transition into Honey Smacks: out and out pandering to the pure sugar crowd.  Perhaps a little too sweet, even for me, it was still fun to dine on.

It's ended up on Crispix, really the only one not baked in glucose.  These tasty treats make me feel a little better about eating them due to the supposed health benefits but it's probably more sham than substance.  I find, eating Crispix I have a rather unique style when they're dry.  I don't know when it started or why but I find myself doing it subconsciously, even after it had been years since I ate it.  My tongue places it vertically between my teeth; then a sharp, swift bite breaks apart to the two sides.  Normally cleanly, at which point I devour them separately.  I wonder why I do that.

"Love Fades" - Woody Allen

I'm always amazed at how quickly my reality becomes a dream.  High school, college, mission, two more times at college.  Within months events that were the focus of my life begin to seem more like stories, images become distorted and the details retreat out of view.  People who were flesh and blood realities fade into phantasms, ghosts haunting my memories.  It used to be they took up physical space, emitted heat and held full conversations with me.  Now they've become rumors I tell myself: my memories are clouded and I can not see clearly.  The intelligence that talked with me, comforted me or was comforted by me is gone.  They're now reduced only to the conversations I can remember: no more can come from them and no new insight can be found.  They're boxed up in a slowly shrinking container.

I guessed four months, which was undoubtedly cynical of me even if true.  Perhaps it was that attitude that did it; but whatever it was it ended up being less than three.  Peripherals vanish immediately of course.  People that were there but held no strong connection.  There was no reason to believe contact would continue afterwards when so little sustained it face-to-face.  I've disappeared from them, and they from me: names going first with faces soon to follow.  Many I wouldn't recognize already and many more will follow that path.  This ends not just memory of the past but chances of the future.  This is no great loss, as clearly the opportunities presented themselves and were not taken due to mutual disinterest.  Friends I never had because I never wanted them, people that never knew me because I was not going to fit into their life anyways.

With others though, the breach becomes a little more painful.  Small moments: passing feelings and thoughts; these things make up a friendship and they quickly vanish out of sight into the past.  Moments of real, emotional intimacy are to go next, true understanding vanishing like so much dust in the wind.  Soon names slip away and those that remain become merely a collection of half-remembered stories and one or two associated characteristics.  It does make me curious: what will my attributes be that those who knew me remember?  When all that can be dredged up is one or two moments of interaction and a basic sense of a person what will be my sense?  Well, no way to know, no way to tell.

Of course this is not the first time, or even the third; perhaps it hurts more now because it's fresh, maybe it hurt every time and I don't remember.  Or maybe because it didn't end in a painful break giving me a fresh start but rather a longing to stay.  Or perhaps it's that I have met no one since and instead have become isolated and alone.  What better environment to remember my past connections than one without any?

Ah well, no use feeling sorry for myself.  I chose to be alone: hoping to move on soon.  Perhaps I still will, one can never know when a potential employer will decide it's time to employ again.  I may not be good at making friends, but I do it anyway.  Or at least I will.

Falling in an Elevator

What to do when you're stuck in an elevator that has had all systems failure including the mechanical breaks? Well according to this article: get on your back! That begs the question: wouldn't an elevator in free-fall be an extraordinarily difficult place to lie down? I mean your center of mass is presumably begining several feet above the floor of the elevator. Once it begins to drop it will (assuming no significant restrictions, and lets face it, it's an elevator plunging) descend exactly as rapidly as you when attempt to fall to the floor. In that brief moment when you remove your feet in an attempt to fall down to the elvator floor you will in fact simply remain with your center of mass equi-distant from the bottom of the elevator only now with your feet removed. Your only hope would be than in displacing the air beneath it the elevator would slow down, while you in an box with the cage pushing the air along with it would not. But the difference would have to be significant enough so as to allow you to drop the few feet down to the floor before the elevator reaches the bottom. Thus the difference in acceleration between you and the elevator must be in proportion to the distance between your center of mass and the elevator floor (with the appropriate geometric factors) greater than the acceleration of the elevator in proportion to the distance it has to fall.

Here''s an interesting look at the elevator problem.  From my perspective the back-up breaking systems tend to work very well and thus if you're actually in free-fall I'd just totally disregard the breaking from the cables and what not since it has to be a pretty decent catastrophe to keep the emergency breaks from kicking in.  If we do that, then all that's left is air resistance.

Basic equation:
d = v*t   + (a*t^2)/2

assuming initial velocity is negligible:
t = sqrt (2*d)/sqrt(a)

Now let's say you'll be falling at the full 9.8m/s/s but the elevator will be falling slower due to air resistance.  Let's say the acceleration difference is 'ar' so the elevator is falling at an acceleration of (9.8-ar)m/s/s.  Now let's discover what ar has to be so that you have hit bottom of the elevator by the time the elevator hits the bottom of the shaft, calling the height of your center of gravity 'cg' and the height your up in the elevator 'h'.

sqrt (2*h)/sqrt (9.8-ar) >= sqrt (2*(cg+h))/sqrt(9.8)

This turns into:

ar >= 9.8-(9.8*h)/(cg+h)


Let's say you're 15 meters up and you center of gravity is 0.75 meters high.  That would result in a necessary air resistance of 0.47m/s/s  Of course a major problem there is the assumed constant, de-acceleration from the air resistance which would not be the case.  Quick back of the envelope calculation shows that the speed half-way through the descent is about 9m/s.  If you trust the math and base assumption in the above link then the air resistance at a constant velocity of 9m/s is 0.8m/s/s.  So in this example you would be OK.  Note that the total time of drop here is about 1.8 seconds, and it would take the majority of that time for you to go from your standing position to ground: a rather odd sensation one imagines.  Of course if you hit the ground and the elevator hits its ground at the same time you've done just made it worse by removing the effect of the cushioning the slightly slower drop the air resistance gave you.  Hopefully being on your back compensates!

Some calculations to find the break even height of drop if your cg was one meter above the elevator floor:

h+1 = 9.8/2*t^2
v_avg = 9.8/2*t
ar = 1*1*10*v_avg^2/1000
ar = 9.8-9.8*h/(h+1)

That give you a break-even at about 13.1 meters.  I'd want time to spare and not hit at coincident times so I'd say 15 meters but the minimal effect of air resistance on end speed probably isn't that big a deal at this point.  As a reference, 13-15 meters translates into 43 to 49 feet, or at typical 12 foot stories, that's around four floors.

Safety in Following the Prophets - Notes for a talk

Bednar, Things to act and be acted upon (2nd Nephi 2:14).

How does one become a moral agent? What separates those who act from those who are acted upon? What do we need to become a moral agent?

Control over out choices
D+C 58:28 For the power is in them [men], wherein they are agents unto themselves...

Knowledge of the impact of our choices
Hel 14:30 ...ye are free; ye are permitted to act for yourselves; for behold, God hath given unto you a knowledge and he hath made you free.

A destination towards which we may aim
Heb 11:16 But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly: wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God...

D+C 13:6 ...there is no gift greater than the gift of salvation.

The purpose of Apostles, Eph 4

Elder Scott [Speaking of the doctrine of the Atonement]" They must be more than principles you memorize. They must be woven into the very fiber of your being as a powerful bulwark against the rising tide of abomination that infects our world.

Heb 8:10 For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, saith the Lord; I will put my laws into their mind, and write them in their hearts: and I will be to them a God, and they shall be to me a people...

2nd Cor 3:3 Forasmuch as ye are manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ ministered by us, written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in tables of stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart.

Our life's path is a reflection of our inner self

Some nights ago I noticed a moment right before I went to bed.  I had turned off my computer and all the lights on the bottom floor.  I began walking to the stairs and at one particular step my foot had left the ground and my body reached apex: no acceleration provided from my landed foot, no change in force.  At 2:00am I was no longer aware of any sound: I'm sure it was there but it was either the wrong frequency or of too low an amplitude to register for me.

So I wonder, what connected one point in time with the next?  Forgetting the question of finite time, how far down do we go before we reach a point of time which exists independent of the surrounding moments?  If there is no stimuli coming in, no sound or light or feeling what is it that links the moments together?  How do we know when time has moved forward and we've arrived in the present?  How can we connect where we are now with where we've come from?  That can range anywhere from adolescent questions of time displacement to something slightly more profound.  How is a moment defined?  Was it good or bad?  Can that be determined without the context of the moments to follow it, or those which proceeded it?

If any of those times are removed from our lives, what is left?  We create a true disconnect between times and at some point our past and future selves ares no longer linked in a four dimensional creation.  Does that remove the moral association as well?  Or is this the type of thing you wonder about after smoking too much pot in your philosophy 101 class?

1:00 Meetings

July 30th, 2010

Hello members,

look at your schedules, now back at this e-mail, now back at your schedules, now back to this e-mail.  Sadly, the upcoming meeting isn't on your schedule.  But if you stopped using your free-time for fun-seeking at 1:00pm on Sundays and switched over to expanded ward council meetings, your schedules could include this e-mail's meeting.  Look at your inbox, now back to this e-mail: your on the interweb.  Look at your friend's list, now back to this e-mail; what is it?  A link to the video this e-mail is parodying.  Look again, the link is now crazy piano playing.  Anything is possible when you fulfill your Church responsibilities and sacrifice your time for the greater good.  I'm on a mountain.

July 23rd, 2010

We are on a hypothetical star ship that is orbiting a black-hole somewhere deep in space.  There's been a miscalculation and we begin to descend inwards, pulled by the massive gravity of the object and unable to escape.  One of the first things we notice is that the black hole is not black at all, but instead emitting a high amount of radiation, called Hawking Radiation that results from a balance of entropy necessity and the quantum physics loophole of virtual particle creation.  We'll be more likely to notice the increase in temperature and high concentration of potentially lethal gamma rays.

Luckily we don't have enough time to be killed by radiation, we're too busy descending into a black-hole!  As we approach the event horizon, the point at which light itself can no longer escape, we'll find that the rest of the universe is curiously slowing down.  Seconds pass normally for us, but the TV broadcast we are somehow still receiving seems to playing more like a Benny Hill tribute than an episode of The WestWing.  In fact as we approach our final destination (ha!) the effect increases until centuries spin by every second, whole worlds are created and destroyed in the blink of an eye.  That massive gravitational well we're trapped in has also trapped time with us, and bent it to the point of infinite duration: we will witness the destruction of the universe if our black-hole makes it that far.  Finally, infinitely far into the future (literally) we collide with the event horizon and find there all the light that has ever struck this entity.  In other words the entire history of the universe is recorded on the surface of the event horizon, frozen in time and in that instance we will see the entire future and past in just one moment: having all creation from beginning to end layed out before us in one last spark of understanding before the gravitational differential pulls us apart at a molecular level.

In this scenario there will really be no need for a ward council both because we'll all already know everything that has and will happen and because we'll be dead.  However, out top hypothetical scientists have not found  a ship that will do that for us, or even a black-hole to do it to so we should probably still show up for ward council this Sunday at 1:00pm

July 13th, 2010

This coming Sunday I predict that you will spend approximately 40 minutes of your waking day (with your eyes wide open) completely blind and wont know it.  In fact, due to saccadic masking that's a good guess for any given day assuming  eight hours of sleep to sixteen hours of wake fullness.  Your brain will intentionally blind you for a large portion of that waking time, over 4% in fact: more time than the average American spends in the bathroom and about one third to one fourth of the time that is typically spent with the family (for a married couple with children).  Unfortunately we can't choose the time in which we're blind (in which case an overlap between bathroom time and blind time might be considered prudent), it comes in millisecond bursts through-out the day.  This phenomena goes hand-in-hand with so called 'change blindness', another results of saccadic shifts.  Quick, was that fly on your monitor always black, or was it navy blue before?  No matter how good your memory is there's really no way to be sure, as you brain probably didn't notice, and even if it did: it just replaced the old memory with the new one (note: the so called 'photgraphic memory' representing someone who literally memorizes every image or other input they've received is a myth so that's not going to work here either).  This isn't a good thing for our credibility considering this method of tom-foolery your brain's pulling on you is entirely separate from memory suggestion in which our brain just makes up swaths of memories out of whole cloth.  Luckily we do have some things that remain constant, that can be counted on to stay the same from moment to moment.  One of those things is expanded ward council on the first and third Sundays of the month at 1:00pm.  Like this Sunday: enjoy!

July 9th, 2010

One hour out of every week represents approximately one half of one percent.  If your week were summarized in a two and a half hour long movie (which is more time than it took Lewis Milestone to summarize all of World War One) one hour would be shown in under one minute: about as much time as it takes to explain to the audience that the film was written by five different people through the clever use of opening credits.  This being said, one hour represents only a snap-shot of human life: significant changes can only be foreshadowed and anticipated in that time.  It is a lower limit to the delta-t against which life is measured: a kind of Planck's constant of human interaction.  Meaningful interaction occurs on a broader scale and thus any one hour meeting capable of reaching meaningful conclusions or taking actions is thus able to fully realize those solutions without the complication of major changes in the original parameters.  The only question remaining is one of preparation: are we capable when we arrive of accurately summarizing the relevant data and using it to reach appropriate conclusions?  If not our delta-t expands and we are forced into non-linear realms with a constantly changing dynamic that now makes the task exponentially harder.  With this in mind, let us prepare for and then, the great key, show-up to our ward council meeting this Sunday at 1:00pm Central Savings Time. 

July 2nd, 2010

Hurry, there's no time to waste!  With summer half-way over and fall just around the corner we must act fast!!!  Who knows what will face us tomorrow?  We must band together now: think of the children!

At one o'clock on Sunday ideally.

May 28th, 2010

Long absent the heart of heart

think not sorrow that we pass,

drift off that maudlin chart

and leave the world to harass

For we find this is our part

and find words of parting crass

for us to be introuvable an art

and in absence: love amass

To put it plainly: no meeting prior to Church this Sunday, as it is the fifth Sunday, and no meeting next Sunday (first of June) since that will be Stake Conference.

May 21st, 2010

It's been replaced in its most common application by varying types of harmonic oscillators: everything from the everyday quartz crystal to the top-of-the-line cyclic energy changes in a caesium gas.  It is a method for turning energy (often stored as potential energy in a battery or mechanical device like a spring) into finally tuned mechanical motion.  The use of a series of intricate gears is invariable applied and the results have been dramatic.  It has brought us the ability to navigate the seas, record and play music, and it even served as the basis for the earliest versions of computers as created by Babbage.  A compound word, the first part derived from the Celtic for 'bell', can you guess what it is?

That's right, clockwork!  Just like this meeting of the Ward Council: every 2nd and 4th Sunday, and that's this Sunday at 1:00pm.  See you there.

May 13th, 2010

Angels moving in the firmament about us, a part of the fabric of reality.  Do we see the gold leaf that adorns the underside of our own reality?  Creatures of another realm with whom our vision melds; do we see truth together or is our hemi-ocularity bind us only into confusion?  Can we be joined to comprehension or will the world always be missing in depth: seeing only from one point of view?  Melded together somewheree in the drapework, ordinary trumps the remarkable and the images fold together as one.  Prayer is for the divine but calls from the debased: open now our hearts to seek within the doldrums of existence and we shall find that eternal spark and be at one with all.

Or at one with all of you, this Sunday at one.  Expanded Ward Council, see you there.

April 30th, 2010

Hello all!

I hope you're planning on joining us this Sunday at 1:00pm to discuss the affairs of the ward.  If you're having trouble fitting it into day though I do have a suggestion.  If you want to present some information but wish to do so early so as to ensure sufficient time to get things done before Church, no problem!  Just travel to Jupiter, and begin about 35 minutes before you want us to see you, and then, assuming we're looking at you through a telescope of amazing focus, we'll be able to see you right on time.  Or perhaps that's insufficient, you want to drive to San Antonio and back in between.  Why that's as easy as traveling to Neptune and speaking just over four hours early.  We wont even be able to tell the difference!  Or if you're late, instead of coming in, why not just go to Mars and watch us from there!  That'll buy you an extra 12 minutes, so no need to worry when traffic slows you down.

Of course the windows in our Bishop's office are pretty opaque so this may be a little difficult... but there are always options.

April 23rd, 2010

Hello all,

We will be meeting this Sunday to council as a ward.  The schedule for the day is based on the Mayan calender so that we can all adequately prepare for the upcoming collapse of civilization as we know it.  So on 12.19.17.5.9.541666666511446, Haab: 2.5416666665114462 Uo, Tzolkin: 8.541666666511446 I expect to see all of you.  Come prepared with notes, input, a positive attitude, and your best impersonation of K'inich Tatb'u Skull I, preferably in Farsi.

Or for those ethnocentric among you: 1:00pm this Sunday: Ward Council.

April 9th, 2010

Hello all,

It has been a turbulent last few weeks: ward conference, general conference, and the death of Eddie Carroll.  Yet in the midst of the storm we may gain strength this coming Sunday by inviting in the Spirit, opening our hearts and minds to the needs of those whom we serve, and reaching important decisions as to how best to rescue those around us.  We'll also go to expanded ward council: see you there at 1:00pm!

February 27th, 2010

Sorry for the late notice everyone, but like always we will be meeting
tomorrow at 1:00pm to discuss the finer points of life.  Please bring:
pencil, paper, and a copy of Thomas Pynchon's "The Crying of Lot 49"
as read by Glenn Gould.

February 19th, 2010

A meeting of Expanded Ward Council and possible, tautology club!

A few fun facts about tautology club:

If everyone is at the meeting, then everyone will be at the meeting

The first rule of tautology club is the first rule of tautology club

There are no notional constructs that violate tautology club and which satisfy all physical laws of existence

Hope to see you all there!

February 12th, 2010

Once more with joy O my home I may meet
Once more ye fair, flowr'y meadows I greet
My Pilgrim's staff henceforth may rest
Since Heaven's sweet peace is within my breast.
The sinner's 'plaint on high was heard
On high was heard and answered by the Lord
The tears I laid before His throne
Are turned to hope and joy divine.
O Lord eternal praise be Thine!
The blessed source of Thy mercy overflowing
On souls repetant seek Ye, all-knowing
Of hell and death, I have no fear
For thou my Lord are ever near
Alleluia!
Alleluia!
Alleluia! For evermore

February 5th, 2010

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

1:00pm Sunday, as per usual.

January 21st, 2010

I know what you're thinking friend, you're thinking did they have six
meetings or only five?  To tell you the truth I kind a' lost track
myself in all this off-time, but being this is an expanded ward
council meeting, the most powerful meeting in the ward and could build
a Saint's testimony right up you gotta ask yourself a question: "will
I be there Sunday?"  Well will ya, friend?

As a note, next Sunday will be the 5th Sunday of the month and there
will be no ward council expanded or otherwise; the Sunday following
that we will be back on our regular schedule of expanded ward council
1st and 3rd Sundays.

January 1st, 2010

Despite our best intentions, a year has passed us by and left us with
no recourse but to endure another month of Janus.  Yet in the bitter
winter, dark and brooding though she is, shall we not find solace
amongst our fellows entrenched likewise against the perils of the
night?  Bring us in no candles of the dirge but play the music of the
light, that all may take their fill of merriment that the fire in the
hearth shines brighter for the fire in our eyes.  A siesta though we
take, the solstice means no break, for friendship is no funeral song.
Though of meetings shall we not partake, our spirits are renewed by
dip in charity's sweet lake.

December 19th, 2009

On December 20th, 1989 United States forces succeeded in capturing and
removing General Noriega from his role as dictator of Panama.  Some 16
years earlier the Prime Minister of Spain, Luis Carrero Blanco, was
killed on his way to a trial against a collection of Franco resistance
fighters.  One of the most violent attacks on a nation's leader in the
20th century.  18 years before that, Yugoslavia won admittance into
the United Nations.

A most auspicious day for meeting, yes?

December 4th, 2009

"To reach Tel-el-Amarna, drive eight miles south of Mallawi to the point where you cross the Nile. On the east side of the Nile the distance is less than a mile and can be covered on foot or on donkey.

Behind the present village, at the ancient site of Tel-el-Amarna, the ruins known as the palace of Nefertiti are among the very few remnants of the Akhnaten period. Tablets in cuneiform writing, which contain correspondence between Egypt and Syria, were found here and are now the the Cairo Museum. (To see any sights on the Eastern bank of the river you must cross by ferry which carries cars along with the usual donkey carts and local traffic. The ferry docking station is located at the southern end of the town. You should arrive there at least one-half hour before the 6:00 AM crossing. The ferry does a brisk business and you will need every available second for sight seeing.)

There is nothing left of this glorious city of temples and palaces. The mud brick buildings have long since crumbled and little remains of the immense stone temples but the outlines of their floor plans."

The remnants of henothesim, Egypt's first break with the polytheistic worship.  His attempt to bring light to his people slowly faded as generation grew old and passed on.  The antiquities of barbarism returned, and his name was lost to history for many millenia.  Yet now his deeds are dug up and his courage celebrated.  What is a person's legacy?  What will reach into the eternities, or is any creation doomed to fail of permanence?  How shall we be known, and what is it we will do this Sunday to ensure the world has changed to reflect our deepest desires, and to assuage our darkest fears?

November 27th, 2009

Though many, of this city freed

Gone oft beyond the gaze of Texas hills

Yet our meetings must precede

In dusty rooms where silence now distills

We find our gatherings still fulfills

All who will be here, welcome in at one!

November 21st, 2009

The following things will happen in the fifteen minutes between our normal meeting time this Sunday and our actual meeting time:

• 4 billion tons of matter in the sun will be converted into energy
• A particle of light (in our equivalent gravitational field, and a vacuum of course) will travel 170 million miles
• 4 thousand people will be born
• The Earth will revolve 3 degrees and 45 seconds about its axis
• 6 million cans of soda will be drunk here in the States
• 3 million stars will be both born and die (different stars that is)
• 90 books will be published around the world
• You will arrive excited about the prospect of participating in ward council!

November 6th, 2009

A Haiku for you

The Bishop's office
For Mount Bonnell Ward Council
To begin at one

October 30th, 2009

Dreams about Llandudno flood the nights, sweeping out the darkness and the light whose act they follow.  Roiled over in controversy, did Carroll write the book there, or did he even visit?  The real Alice was there and perhaps that's enough.  Conversations with that little white rabbit are becoming more frequent but harder to follow.  Serious and crucial talks, but where is that bunny off to, and should we jump in the hole after him?  There's no question he's right about the time, however; this is a jump into the future and so we dislodge ourselves from the mirery past and dive head first after the creature: watching as Wales rolls by over our heads.  Where are we now, and when?  Ah hah!  It is the Bishop's office and the time is 1:00pm, November the first, just in time for our meeting: how convienent.

October 24th, 2009

NIST has long been the world's leader in time keeping.  Since the year 2000 a new mechanism has been employed to ensure accuracy to within one tenth of one nano second per day.  The vibration of Caesium at 9,192,631,770 cycles per second measured now not in our chaotic room temperature environments but near absolute zero in a microwave emitting chamber, cooled by 6 infra-red lasers and pulsing through the mechanism at about one full revolution a second.  The inevitability is striking, is it not?  As we spend a second in ambivalence or in action the  tiny number of atoms revolving around a chamber in NIST's labs have oscillated almost ten billion times.  Sleep, adrenaline, emotional highs and lows that dramatically alter our perception of true time will have no impact on the certain march through time these atoms trod, forcing the world with them into the future.  For us that future arrives 5,559,703,694,496,000 Cesium cycles ahead of our last meeting, or at one hour past the meridian on this coming Sunday.  Let the tides of time wash us all to shore that we find commonality in our journey, if only this once in five and a half quadrillion vibrations.

October 17th, 2009

This e-mail serves as a reminder to all invited guests that we will be having expanded ward council at one o'clock in the p.m. on the marrow.  We hope to see everyone there, or we will be forced to go to the highways and by-ways and bring out the poor and the meek to attend.

October 8th, 2009

Who has put thee in their heart, o' Ahman?  For he has surpassed all that was done previously, having gathered every august, costly stone without limit to any good thing.  Health has built her box of cedar upon the terraces and made the river shine!  Encompassed a nation and plucked glistening tears from the faithful sufferers.  Who has put thee in their heart, o' Ahman?  Brought low the gods that knew thee not, o' Ahman.  Made war with the victors and come of victorious.  Beaten low the lofty places, and brought up the valleys to greet thee.  Who has put thee in their heart, o' Ahman?

Which is to say, expanded ward council will be meeting this Sunday and next to make up for our missed chances of the past.  And so I ask, who has put thee in their heart, o' Ahman?

September 26th, 2009

And so it begins, the start of another round of inspiration and council to be held at home quarters on the 'morrow.  When the clock chimes once we shall assemble from across the boundaries of our understanding, together to create a masterpiece of function which transcends the material and breaks into the personal.  That's right, one o'clock tomorrow shall be the inception of another ward council, welcome to all!

Night and Day

Ahh, the glory of night.  Actions hidden in darkened anonymity, the world being whatever is created by your light, and your actions.  So much to be accomplished, so much potential.  What do we desire?  What do we seek after?  It's all available, it can all be had: complete stillness is out there, or continuous motion if you so desire.

But what's that?  Our periphery catches some glancing blow of light!  Morning shining off the sky and back-again.  But just a sliver now, there's still time, there's still time.  Cards and movies, dinners and dancing we can have it all!  No need to panic, no need to rush.

Now it seems the windows allow a fain glow, some tricky apparatus funneling in that dreadful substance.  Photons pounding off the corridor and into our own private world!  Vague objects in the blackness begin to take shape, forms of the formless.  Still we persist, and our night carries on.  What last adventure do we desire, what last story to reveal in before the morning takes us?

Light is pouring in, obfuscating our generated opaqueness.  Reality forcing itself upon us, coming out of hiding and running full sprint at our consciousness.  Still we cling to those last shadows before dawn, the last moments of fantastical imagination.  But now it is too late, it is over.  The sun opening its screens against the night, the windows pulsing with new found energy.  No longer are even the corners shrouded in that gentle darkness that so endured them to our wild imaginings.  Soon life will start anew around us, and we are left at the mercy of other's realities.  The day has begun, and our hope waits in slumber for the night.

Stand-Up Comendy Ideas

Love can't conquer different levels of politness
You should always be able to run in your shoes
What age do you get to when you start wearing your watch facing the other way?
Why do we still have the 'fax' option?
Hacking into the CIA.
Chosing a religion to raise a child in
Not judging fat people in the grocery store
How come actors bring awareness but I'm supposed to provide money?
Why are kids always taught animal noises?

Truth and lies, death and life

An abstraction must delete information from reality or it serves no purpose.  There can be no complete description save the thing itself.  Any representation is, by necessity, lacking.  There can be no true re-telling, no accurate report, all become lies in the face of vivid truth.  The present and the past, meeting at a razor's edge of now, they are cut apart and can not be brought together despite the trick of memory or record.  Thus only actions of fidelity as only they can occur in the present, all else attempts to span the past and the future and becomes lies.  All words are, by their nature, lies.  In speaking honestly one must besmirch the truth and commit sin in telling.  No conversation is forthright and no person who reaches out to those around may consider themselves clean of error.  There is no escape nor release from this trap save in action.

Thus is beauty found in action, in the creation.  Creation is art, dissection is death and the end of beauty.  But beauty may only exist in the moment, in the elusive now.  It is bordered and framed and shelved neatly between beginning and ending.  That is why true beauty ends in death, the desire for action is the desire to end action, just as the desire to move is the desire to be still.  Movement may only be understood in the context of beginning and ending.  'Where is he going?', 'where did she start?', the movement itself relegated to meaningless by the dominant bookends of inaction.  Birth and death serve as the foundation and the capstone of live and overshadow any action in it.  What is life?  It is to be born, and it is to die, the rest of triviality.  There is no other surety, no other constant to define life and so the borders must define it.

The truth of action understood only through the lies of words.  The joy of life known only in the pain of death.  To find beauty we seek destruction, to find joy we look for sorrow.  The end of joy is sorrow, it is the constant that befriends joy, the end of life is death and the two made from the same beginning.  We are tied to death as truth is tied to falsehood.  They come from the same lips, they fall from the same stream.  We battle uphill, against the current: what do we see?

Heat

You can feel it pressing in, pushing from every corner.  It's a subcutaneous pressure, a motionless wind: there is no escape nor protection.  Energy pulsating through every nerve, an oppressive heat surrounds you.  There can be no respite, no succor to combat it.   Outside it is more intense, more vivid; inside it is a gray undertone to form dissonance to every note.  Heat has no counter, allows no recourse.  It is the antidote to drive and vigor allowing a torpid soul to continue in apathy.  Every move invites a worsening of the exterior condition: pumping out further heat and discomfort.

The cold forces motion: it is a barren field in which one with drive may plow and plant.  A vast, empty expanse to be filled with motion, combat is purpose and purpose is success.  A desire for cold is a desire to live, desire for heat is a wish for unending stillness, a cry for the ending of the race.  It is ambition that will meet the cold, and timidity that calls for heat.  The soul of progress will be North, and death only can be found in the tropics: waiting in the lushness of the plenty.

Father's Lessons

They thought I could not understand, and so they did not shield me.  Or perhaps the moment overcame reason; I am not sure but I do remember.  I remember the passion in Mother's eyes, the hunger there where, for weeks, there had only been hardness.  I remember the gentleness in Father: the strong reed yielding softly to the winter wind. That is how I first learned from Father that even in the midst of great emotion it was calmness that ruled.  He was the wall against which the wild energy of Mother broke until she was satisfied and the calm came to her too.  But not the hardness of before, only peace: returned like spring's rains come from afar to wet the broken brow of the earth; Father was back and all was right.  This was my first memory and my first lesson and I learned it well.  That is why even the men admired me in battle and feared me in the court, I had learned to be calm when all around me had given themselves over to confusion.

Sitting in council I often told that story and the elders would always nod with me.  True, true, true, they'd say, and you are truth's ambassador.  I told that story the year the winter winds brought unrelenting snow from the East.  When the villagers came from out of the plains and begged for food, and the council feared for their own lives and forsook charity in search of salvation.  I told the story and the elders murmured "true" and the villagers went away with sacks of flour and a supply of smoked meat that would bring them through to see the sun finally clear the sky of clouds and their fidelity ours.  I told the story when our cousins to the North thought that their greed gave them power over us and brought their armies to our doorstep demanding our surrender.  Many wished to lay down before them in fear but I told them that the reed bends in the wind and lives through the mightiest gale, but any man that breaks his back will never stand again to face the slightest breeze.  We held out three long weeks, and on the fourth found the army gone, the cousins calling back all that they had sent out that they could now destroy each other in war.

It was then that they asked me to stand with the council: Mother was proud and urged me accept.  "Such honor" she said, "all will admire you."  But Father smiled and said "Honor will come from your wisdom, but you must have the strength to refuse the honor of the people or you should not stand."  Mother chided him endlessly for his warning but I listened to Father and did not stand in council.  When the elders asked me why, I told my second story of Father.

I was still very little, but Father had taken me hunting for boar in the woods to the West of us.  It was not the first time we had gone together, though some considered it dangerous and unwise with me so young.  Others thought it wrong headed with me being a daughter and an only child at that as Mother had not yet brought forth Charlie to be my companion in childhood.  They thought it unwise but Father had thought it wise and we went out West.  This time farther than I had ever traveled away from our little house: deep, deep into the woods.

On the third day we found tracks of a beast not long since passed by.  Father had me prepare my bow and he unsheathed his knife ready to slit the throat of the bore I would pierce.  It was an honor to be given the trust of being the only archer and so I remembered the moment, and relished the thought of taking the beast and of the praise Father would give me when it fell.  It was in this spirit of indulgence that I heard the cry, a man not 200 paces away, lying against the trunk of a great tree, bleeding.  Forgetting the boar we rushed to his side only to discover it was Father's great friend Micilio of the council.  He was wandering in the forest and had tripped and fell on a branch that pierced him through the chest.  Just out looking for a rare flower to cure his wife's illness he said.  Father saw the lie immediately and knew the truth behind it.  Micilio was against our war with the Lathians and had sided with Father in attempt to stop us from marching.  But their voices were not heard and our warriors had set out only a week before to catch the enemy unaware on their return from victories out beyond our borders.

Micilio had gone to warn them, and sell his knowledge of our plans.  Father saw all this and reached gently into Micilio's breast pocket and retrieved the small pouch of gold that lay within.  Having no strength left, Micilio could not stop him and seeing the pouch, ceased trying.  He pleaded that this was for the good of all, that Father was with him surely!  Did not Father remember the countless times they'd stood together in war and in peace?  Father remembered indeed, and so when Micilio had finally ceased his pleas for forgiveness Father placed the knife, still in his hand, gently against his friends throat.  I remember the way the blood came to the surface, drawn up by the edge of that pitiless metal, forming a perfect, red line across soft skin and falling down to the ground, to be drunk up by the tree with the next day's rain and the dew of the morning.  Turning to me Father's face lost it's calm and I saw great tears form at the corners of his eyes.  "All good friends deserve to be mourned at their passing" he told me.  We went home that day and warned the council who sent our rider to alert our troops that their plan was known and to return.

It was then I learned that strength was to love the people more than yourself and so I did not stand, for I feared that I could not find strength enough to sacrifice all when called upon.  It was not until later, after Charlie died in the heat of a terrible illness that claimed the the lives of a fifth of us in one summer that I finally decided to stand.  I was still young, not the youngest to ever stand surely but the youngest woman and so I was honored.  But I was Father's daughter and so I did not preen at their words nor take the proffered gifts but continued quietly to live with Mother and Father in our home across the river from the city.

That fall, a young man had been found climbing out the window of his lover whose parents had forbidden marriage for he had no property and rightly, no ambition.  When taken to us in council they first denied having done anything but soon, weeping, confessed to everything.  The law was clear and there was alternate paths available, so we stood as one and set the punishment proscribed generations ago when first our people settled here.  I stood too, and joined my voice to the elders so that the in the morning the man and woman were killed quietly behind the great sycamore that stands outside the Northern most gates and buried there that afternoon.  I saw the execution, refusing to hide from my decision by taking refuge in the daily labors that would keep from having to watch as the young man tried to remain stoic to the end but broke down crying, pleading for his life before the axe removed his head deftly from his body.  Nor did I miss the scream the young woman uttered when she turned back too quickly and saw what had happened, or the second scream just before the blade came down on her own neck.  I watched it all and knew that it was right, and that though sometimes bloody, it was the law that held our community from tumbling over the edge into dissolution and death of the whole.

The night afterwards I found myself on the hill overlooking the Sycamore tree, staring down at the tree, and the gates, and the distant city on the crown of the horizon.  I watched as Father slowly walked through the gates and up, directly to where I sat: knowing somehow that I would be there on that night, knowing that I was alone and in that moment could not be alone.  He said nothing, but held me tightly and I cast my arms around him and remembered as a child how it had felt, and that though we were both older I was reassured that in all the storms that had beset us, and all that would come some things were solid and would not change.  That is how I learned the lesson of compassion from my Father, that it was given not to those who deserved it, but rather to those who needed it.

Years passed by and Father grew older.  When he was thirty-five years of age he stepped down from the council and I was chosen to lead.  He returned home to be with Mother and to care for her, as she had lain ill for two years, unable to leave our house save to sit in her beloved garden, now encroached upon by weeds without her tender vigilance, for an hour a day.  Over time, I became accustomed to my new role and soon wore it like my own clothes; but I did not forget my Father's lessons.

It was two years later in the midst of the summer heat, that the messenger came to us.  I had come back from a battle to the East, a minor skirmish with a duke who though himself a king and thus owner of our lands and of our people.  The people were jubilant from our victory but I knew that their feelings would not overpower their worry.  There had been a drought that was eating up our crops at an ever increasing rate.  It had begun when little snow fell that Winter, and the spring melt had brought only a trickle where before we had seen a torrent.  All Spring we waited for the rains to come and bring life to the seeds that meant life for us all but they didn't come.  Summer arrived and with it great clouds that promised to drench the land and replenish our supplies, but the storms never came and the clouds finally disappeared: their promises unfulfilled.  Concern turned to worry turned to fear and so the council decided to go send out troops to our borders; resolving conflicts that had long festered the people and would bring confidence back.  But though our victories were celebrated and perhaps the drought forgotten for a time, the fear would always return, always a little greater than before.And so the messenger came out of the South and when he spoke, the fear of the people confirmed his message in their hearts.


He spoke of gods of which we had never heard, but which we all knew intimately.  Gods of anger and vengeance who sent the drought to punish us for our indolence.  We must make a sacrifice, he said, we must placate the Gods, then the rain will come.  One man must die that all may live, this was his message.  The people heard and the people believed, but the council was wiser and cast the messenger out.  The weeks went by and news came from the great cities to the West and the North and the East.  They had also received a messenger and having no council, had each killed their greatest man and burned his body in ritual obedience.  Yet still no rain came and now they wondered and they questioned, and the messengers told them: your sacrifice is great but there remains one city who will not bow to the will of the Gods, they must likewise join you in your humility as they will share with you in the rain that comes from our Gods.  So the cities began to send their ambassadors but still the council stood together as one and refused.  The people on the borders of our city began to demand we give in, yet still the council stood.  The cities sent threats of violence and retribution for our disobedience, but still the council stood.  And then one day we awoke to find the armies of countless kingdoms and fiefdoms and cities and villages gathered at our doorstep.

We were told that we would deliver the body of our greatest man to them that night to be burned in sacrifice or we would all go up in a great flame that could be seen from ocean to mountain top.   We met in council all that morning, many wished still to remain apart from the madness that had spread across the land and refuse give in, and others felt their honor offended that any enemy would dictate to us.  So I told them the story of strength and because they knew me they listened, and they agreed and we had strength together as a council.  It was I that went to my Father to tell him, I would let no other take that burden from me.

When my Father heard the decision of the council I had no need to explain, he understood the task that had been given him.  Mother though, would not understand and on her bed, cried for hours until she was spent while Father and I held her and comforted her.  Together we took the pain of her suffering, together we had calm in the face of the storm.  And when her tears were spent my Father kissed her, took his hunting knife along with his bow and we left, off into the woods.

Through the remainder of the afternoon we hunted and as the night came, we found a boar rutting in the bushes fifty paces off.  Quietly we prepared, and when we were both ready I set loose an arrow that found the great heart of the animal.  It let out a cry and tried to run, but in after only a few steps it had fallen and Father was on top of it, his blade finding the arteries that took the beast's blood to its brain.  We stood over it together and saw death bring calm to the boar's raging body.  A minute passed, then two, and finally Father looked at me and said "Perhaps now is the time.  Wait for me on the hill and watch that you may know when to summon the people."

And so I retreated to the hill above the bushes were we had found the board and watched.  I saw as Father cleaned off the knife, not wishing to mingle his blood with that of a beast.  I saw as he stood, staring silently at the blade gathering strength for his last act.  I saw him prepare his body to receive the telling blow; and though it was dark I saw the moment in which the courage went out of him, and I knew then that this is why he had taught me compassion.  For in this moment he did not deserve it, but he needed it and so it was then that my arrow flew through the air and lodged itself deep in his chest before he had a chance to run, or even think of running.  I went down and replaced my arrow with his knife, for I was my Father's daughter and I had compassion.

His body was burned that night in a great ceremony out in the plains and the next day the armies returned to their homelands.  As the weeks went by and no rain fell the people across the land began to turn on the men from the South and those that did not escape quickly enough were killed and their bodies cast without ceremony out where the fowl could devour them and the rodents pick them clean.  It wasn't until Fall, when many had died from drought and from mobbing and from needless wars with neighbors who had once been friends that the rain finally came to replenish the wells and bring hope to the hearts of the people once more.  There were celebrations through-out the city and grievances that just the previous day had justified murder were forgotten now in the excess of plenty.  The council was overcome with joy and joined with the people in their merry making; but I went to my Mother who was now buried behind her garden, and wept.

Beauty

Some moments are built into our lives with exquisite beauty, they're just scripted that way.  The presentation of majestic amidst the most colloquial backdrop may still inspire awe in all classes of imagination.  How often do they come?  It's hard to say, we may not even remember them afterwards; but the moment exists independent of our recognition as a jewel in the midst of a fire.  Though we may see the flames consume it, perfection may only be masked, it can not be destroyed.  The ravaging of age leave untouched the gems of youth, and though the mists roll over the visages of our greatest triumphs yet they remain in darkness: their power untouched by the black of the night waiting always for the return of tender hearts to return the light.  Be not fearful, but always in the arms of beauty and you shall never fade.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0O6Fnyz1Y0

Pain

It brings clarity to the moment: isolating it against a static background of somber tones of listless monotony.  Pain sharpens the senses, increases the memory and open a pathway of reality unknown to those who hide behind their fortifications against life.  The edge of a knife, it slices through deception and camouflage to reveal the truth beneath the masquerade.  We seek it in all endeavours, encounter it at the climax of every accomplishment.  It is the harmony of success, and the partner of fulfilment.  A search for death in life: the desire for beauty is manifested in a desire for death. To see clearly we leave behind the residue of impurity, like a trail of muck that marks the path of a slug.  Those who journey to greatness may be found by walking amongst the refuge of filth and unkempt dreams of darker or lesser glories.  All our voyages will end the same: in death.  All life born with the seeds of destruction built into them.  Nothing will last, we speed towards endings of splendour, or of cowardice as we attempt to dodge inevitability.  No man that seeks to avoid fate will find his lot cast amongst the heroes of the past.

Pain will bring light into dark places, and bring the power to conquer what lays before us.  It will bring up that well-spring of emotion instantly to its aid.  What must we feel now?  Is it anger, is it sadness?  What brought us to this point of intensity in a world of torpor?  All the must be will come when called by the dark gods of humanity.  They must be wakened, they must be satiated: it is pain that will rouse the sleeping giants within us.  Pain will call the legions and light the signal fires; we shall never overcome adversity, but rather shall be raised above all by adversity.  Pain is our father, and we seek none greater.  This is the prelude to life.

Questions

• What is a meaningful contribution?
• Are our lives chaotic, and thus capable of being changed in a significant manner through minor input?  If not then what benefit can we bring to others in the short time we are with them?  If so, does that make our interactions powerful but ultimatly meaningless morally?
• If information density implies inability to compress, doesn't that lead to the conclusion that only true randomness contains information.  If adding order to a system reduces randomness which reduces information, what are the moral and intellectual ramifications of that?
• If a person is caught in an addiction, when do they lose moral responsibility for their actions, or can all actions be placed at the feet of the choices they made that led to addiction?
• What does it mean to make a difference?
• How does spiritual matter travel across physical space?  Is it continious as we assume with physical matter, or is it disjointed into finite jumps?
• When we saw two or more things are connected, what do we mean, and what does that actually imply about the items in question?  How close must these things be in the given category (physical space, attributes, etc...)?
• Is there such a thing as a continuim?
• Are the phenomena of entanglement and chaos robust enough such as to together impact macro events?
• How redundant must a statement be in order to be considered tautalogical?
• When we speak of the sense of touch, what is it that we are feeling?  Electrostatic forces only?

Once more into the breach, dear friends

It was his watch that finally drew his attention to the issue. It was losing time; first seconds on the day, measures within the realm of mediocrity that was the prevalent notion of the day. His irritability turned into confusion as the seconds became minutes, and then hours. He could never bring the problem to focus, never shackle it down and force it into his own reality. He brought stop-watches by the cartoon, wholesale from Swiss vendors circulating the new, crystal variety.

Each one timed against his watch showed fidelity to an unreasonable degree. Milliseconds remaning constant over meticulously recorded minutes and hours. Yet every day he found himself farther and farther back. Whole mornings having escaped the notice of his watch; afternoons dissipating into some unseen aether. Each second marking its passage on the glass face but lost to the spectrum of his life.


Braulio began to understand the source when, after another fruitless but detailed study of one second piling upon another, he found that the issue had so progressed that he was no longer merely losing time: his watch had actually traveled backwards; even as he stared unceasingly at the dials proceeding in the forward direction, several minutes had returned to him, leaving him behind his starting point. In that moment he perceived that is was him and not some physical contrivance that was at the source. A flesh and blood temporal displacement in the midst of a river of inevitability. Some sort of dimensional warping forcing his path into reverse amidst his fellows.


This was not unheard of among mining scholars. Cases of cause-effect reversals having been reported for centuries beneath the surface. Most attributed this to depth inversion, finding height measured downwards the other aspects of life simply followed the simple reversal. Braulio was entirely unaware of this tradition of time altercations amongst his spiritual forefathers, but as with the rest of them he could have immediately ruled out this foolish depth-time relation for such as held that view. The two dimensions were unconnected: it was light. Light has always been the source, always been the arbiter of space.

Darkness ruling in the man-made caverns, blackness permeating into the realities of the mine. It was Braulio's sacrifices to that ruling power which joined him with the opposing directions. As black became his light, so forward was replaced with its opposite: that old 'bait and switch' practical joke that was a favorite of so many that had gone before.

He became a walking doorway into a realm of possibility. The reversal not so of time itself, but more directly of inevitability. Sure things, known outcomes, quaking in his presence. Questions of entropy increase and thermal chemistry reaming unknowns in that pocket of space he occupied. Was this the method God had ordained to return structure to His creation? Some sort of embrace of darkness, a rejection of the gift of sight? Perhaps the blind were to be leading the sighted, bringing them down past the nexus of surface into the subterranean kingdoms.


The questions flamed up in the mind of Braulio, but were swiftly stamped out, dosed by the inundating routine of down-world survival. The day-today trivialities easily crowding out the meaning of true discovery. He became accustomed to merely asking around in order to determine time (no longer able to trust the clocks he had worked by) and the matter began to fade into the ever-present blackness.

Information

What is the informational density of a piano?  It's primarily known for 88 distinct sets of data (not specific frequencies as each note is impure: containing different overtones), with a specific access mode.  Here's an  example of information retrieval on a piano, so what is stored here?  Clearly the piano brings some base set of information from which one may extrapolate the performance using a set of meta-information.  This meta-information would consist of data as to how the keys were pushed.  If we knew nothing about the instrument we might assume a list of total presses for keys might do it.  Perhaps greater insight would lead us to a list of the keys in order: but even that's not sufficient.  We begin to approach a situation in which way be able to actually grasp the desired output when we include time as a recorded factor.  But we also discover the speed at which each individual piece of information is recovered is also an essential part of the overall effect, and now more data is needed.  A complete set of retrieval information (or meta-information) would include the time of any key-press, press-intensity most likely measured as velocity of key depression, and release time.  In a standard piano knowledge as to pedal action would also have to be included.

Armed with this meta-information we would now be able to recreate past knowledge events (play pieces) given a specific knowledge set (the piano).  The meta-information we've obtained has no inherent value, it is useless to use directly and can only be accessed itself through the use of the base information.  The fact that likewise the base information is useless to us without the meta-information is not a paradox but a wonderful example of symbiosis of knowledge.  Once applied appropriately we find a piece played that goes beyond the meta-information we brought to the appearance: resonance between strings, as an example, not being expressed in the text itself.

The actual information has a real physical appearance in the form of the strings, the soundboard, the case, etc... But the meta-information we've discussed is purely abstract, having no physical reality.  It may be stored on paper in the form of sheet music (a rather impure form) but then the reality is the ink and the paper and additional meta-information is required to translate that to our version of knowledge.  This sets up an infinite recursion of required knowledge that has not been explained.  No true end point has been found, we only know there is one, and that it is not infinite, because we are capable of making sense of these things, and we can translate information.  But for the time being we see that the piano itself is the only "true" information, and the rest is an abstraction that requires the piano to become a physicality.

So what information does a piano really store?  We discussed its 88 notes, but is that the reality?  What if we did not know what information to look for, how many ways could we attempt to access the information locked within?  We could put the piano in a compression test in which we loaded the top and bottom until it failed, deriving a force versus strain curves and giving us all sorts of information like elastic constant, plasticity and ultimate load.  Is not this information 'stored' in the piano just as much as musical notes?  Burning it we would determine caloric makeup, speed of combustion, chemical composition and so forth.

Perhaps a question that should be asked is: what does a piano mean?  What's the totality of its meaning, what is it in and of itself and what does add up to?  Most likely any intelligence would recognize in a short time that it was designed, and that the purpose of the design included use of the keys (cats certainly prove this with frequency).  Is that it's meaning?  Would it be more meaningful if it were later to be used to perform an notable task?  Is a piano more meaningful if it has in the past performed a meaningful task (which we each must decide the definition of)?  If so what information is stored that has value?  If none then how could meaning be determined if a zero change in information allowed a change in meaning?  That would force us to admit that an object does not contain its own meaning, or that it is impossible to determine the meaning of anything as it may or may not have been impacted by the events that generated its meaning.

How does this apply to the meaning of us, of a person?  Do we contain meaning inherent in ourselves or must it be forced upon by another intelligence?  If so then where does that recursive process end?  If we do contain meaning, where can we find it, how can we determine our own sum total?  What must we look at, and how would it be stored as it happened to use?