magistrate: The arc of the Earth in dark space. (Default)
On the topic of not-rocks, when I was growing up, I had a cassette tape that had a bunch of folk tales on it. One of them (if I remember correctly, which I very well may not) had to do with a king who was sick, and sent his three sons out looking for a magical cure. Two of the sons get bored of the quest and quit; the third actually found the cure and was bringing it back when his brothers found him, killed him, buried him, and took the cure home to claim the reward. But reeds grew where the good son had been buried, and someone cut the reeds and made a pan flute, and when the pan flute was played, it sang about the brother's death in his voice.

I mostly remember it because the song was creepy and got stuck in my head a lot.  I have never been able to successfully Google the story or its audio.  I really wish I could find it again, though, because nostalgia.
magistrate: The arc of the Earth in dark space. (Default)
AAAAAAH FUCK, I WAS ALREADY NEVER GOING TO START SMOKING, BUT I AM NEVER GOING TO START SMOKING



Way to prey on my powerful and mostly baseless* dread horror of radiation, Veritasium.

*Not to say that radiation isn't norrifying, but I'm unlikely to be in a situation in my life where it's actually a present danger to me.

Though now I want to write a story (very) loosely inspired by the firefighters at Chernobyl. ;_;
magistrate: The arc of the Earth in dark space. (Default)
Every once in a while I realize how idiosyncratic the shapes and conventions of my world are to their particular points in time. The visual arrangement of the walls and ceiling and doors and decorations in my room are only available as I perceive them from the posture and position in which I sit to observe them, in the time when exigencies of finances and the social freedom of being a bachelor-type (if not in all regards a bachelor) drive me toward certain arrangements of housing. In my life, the things which were familiar to me will become foreign to the welling society. As a kid, I used to be fascinated with film canisters; I used to keep small keepsakes in them or fill them with some concoction or other to pretend that they were magical potions. It struck me as I was sitting here that fewer and fewer people are going to recognize them by sight, as time goes on. Fewer people will know what I'm talking about when I mention them. Film canisters.

I spend so much time in the back of my head or off in other worlds that I don't pay much attention to the granular detail of the world around me. As a result, even details of familiar environments seem novel and surprising when I turn my attention to them. I don't consciously process the arrangement of my room. I don't consider the makeup or implication of the clutter on my floor. I don't remember the tiny truths tucked away inside my memories. Except that sometimes I do, and the world gets this cast of realness to it, and it's strange, and frightening, and heartening. And foreign, and familiar, all the same.
magistrate: The arc of the Earth in dark space. (Default)
The strange thought that crossed my mind: taking all the creative works of all people of all time, just on this one little planet drifting through the universe that would seem, by comparison of size, to be rendered insignificant; taking into account all the nuances of circumstance and idiosyncracy and story and history and personality and interest and action, even if only imagined, even if never written down, thinking of that vast pool of glimpses into the lives of people real or imagined, how many people have we apprehended? How much of this universe would those lives have filled?

The mind has the capacity to exceed the capabilities of the world. Something. I don't know. There's a concept here, but I can't quite get it out into sentences.
magistrate: The arc of the Earth in dark space. (Default)
Sagan-Man
They laugh now, but within 10 years the city's entire
criminal class will have quit to work on space research.


My adoration for various space programs, and for the larger natural universe, is somewhat hard to define.

I just watched Voyage to the Planets and Beyond for the first time today, and let me tell you, the adoration was there in spades.

At one point you get to listen to the radiowaves coming up out of Jupiter's natural processes. You get to listen to planetsong. I came perilously close to getting tears in my eyes.

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magistrate: The arc of the Earth in dark space. (Default)
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