Dappled Moonlight

.

.

Dappled moonlight;

I daren’t breathe…

The water calm, murmuring

She rolls her shoulders:

Luminous sprites dance;

An undulous shawl,

A furtive message;

Whispers, the shore

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

A Stanislaw Lem Euro-Google-Doodle

While attempting to write a review of Stanislaw Lem’s novel His Master’s Voice, I lost my concentration, began to surf the web, and came across a Euro Google-Doodle (from November, 2011) that I’d missed. The doodle commemorated the 60th anniversary of Lem’s first published work. So, for any other Lem fans (or other interested parties) who missed the doodle…

The doodle depicts two characters from The Cyberiad; the creators, Trurl and Klapaucius. The doodle features excellent animation by Sofia Foster-Dimino, who recreated the whimsical characters first drawn by Daniel Mroz, who illustrated several  Stanislaw Lem books.

The doodle is also a game; a series of puzzles (powered by HTML5, programmed by Marcin Wichary). As the player solves each puzzle, an element is collected and a new level is opened. There are three levels (math questions, identification of synchronous waves, and launching robots up to a satellite). When the three elements are collected, the final animation sequence is revealed. Click on the image below to go to the animated doodle-game; or, go to this YouTube video to watch the entire animation (~ 5 minutes). There is also an interesting Washington Post Article on the Lem-Euro-Doodle.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

A Cardboard Bicycle

http://news.discovery.com

Izhar Gafni, an interesting Israeli inventor, decided to construct a bike out of cardboard; unfortunately, he had difficulty finding any information about the engineering properties of the material. He was able to find some information on the properties of cardboard boxes: engineers test shipping boxes by dropping them with an enclosed load, but he was unable to locate any scientific research to assist in constructing his bicycle; in fact, three separate Israeli engineers informed him that it was impossible. But he was indomitable, and he ultimately used the fundamentals of Japanese origami to increase the weight-bearing capacity of cardboard by a factor of nearly three: the frame can withstand a rider of 220 kg. (485 lbs.).

Izhar Gafni coated his frame with an organic resin to imbue it with water-proof qualities (it was tested in an aquarium), and he heat tested his cardboard materials to ensure they could withstand the rigors of extreme summer heat.He intends for the bike to be available to every child in the world; for example, those in Africa, who walk dozens of kilometers to school each day.

Gafni’s cardboard bike is 95% eco-freindly cardboard, which is dunked in an organic resin (for water-proofing), and finished with an esthetically pleasing pearly paint: all for less than $10 a bike. His only concern is that the seat could be more comfortable…

Gafni has future plans for cardboard baby strollers, wheelchairs, etcetera…

If you’re intrigued, there is a video about Izahar Gafni’s cardboard bike project; a film that explains his inspiration and documents the construction process: I considered it well worth six-minutes of my time.

.

.

.

 

The Cat’s Table, a book review

The Cat’s Table is the first Michael Ondaatje novel I’ve read, but it won’t be the last. The book is deceptively simple; at first, its depths lurk below the surface.

The novel begins as a coming-of age tale; the narrator, Michael, an eleven year old boy, strikes out on a three-week boat journey from Sri Lanka to join his mother in England. Michael meets two other boys on the boat and they become a rambunctious trio, enjoying many adventures onboard. Michael also meets an interesting retinue of adults, each with secrets.

Interspersed in the book are glimpses from the narrator’s adult life, the last half of the novel in particular (for me, the second half of the novel turned a pleasant story into a gem). The behind-the-scenes lives of the adults on the boat voyage are slowly revealed.

The book has an autobiographical thread running through it as well; the narrator’s name is Michael, he travelled from Sri Lanka to England as a boy, and he grew up to be a writer in North America. There is an interesting, third-person introductory section to the novel (the rest of the novel is written in first-person), which includes a wistful statement, as if from the mind of a man looking back at the child he was, or possibly the author inventing the character in the story:  “I try to imagine who the boy on the ship was. Perhaps a sense of self is not even there…” (p.4).

Ondaatje writes wonderfully; occasionally, I would pause for a moment to appreciate a turn of phrase: so effortless, so well crafted.

Recommended.

.

.

.

 

To infinity, and beyond

even if the universe is, for instance, a self-contained box, wouldn’t there be something outside the box? On the other hand, how could it go on forever? Or is our universe shaped like a multidimensional Möbius strip, a Klein bottle, or some other unimaginable shape? Infinity is a concept that hurts to think about: it pushes the mind into uncharted territories.

I have no idea how others come to terms with infinity; but, when I was young, it eventually brought a meditative state; from which, random thoughts burbled up and resolved themselves in flashing images. These states led, inevitably, to the terrifying concept of death, similar, in many ways, to my difficulty with either a finite or infinite universe. I couldn’t imagine me ending (my fears began with death of family members, but eventually manifested in the ghoulish prospect of personal death: I could comprehend the death of a family member (however sad the thought made me), but I could not imagine my own death; I suppose this is a fairly common ego-centric, immature worry). I knew the theories about what happens after death — heaven, reincarnation, etcetera — but these did nothing to quell my fears: whatever occurred after death, I would cease to exist. The unique being, me, would change in some unfathomable way. Either I’d metamorphose into something else: the being I was before I was born, an angel, another being in another cycle of life, or perhaps the unique consciousness that was me, within this organic body, would be snuffed out, and my organic remains would slowly fade into the universal continuum. Fortunately, my thoughts of death also had a happy conclusion: I decided that the concept of death taught me to enjoy the life I was living: nothing else mattered, because it was uncontrollable. Every moment of the present existence should be cherished. I’m not always conscious of death’s lesson, but it is an excellent reminder when life’s twists and turns lead me down negative pathways.

And one of the confusing pathways, for me, was religion. I think religion can be a wonderful thing (and attacks on religious beliefs are, in my mind, unconscionable — terrible things have been done in the name of religion, but these things are certainly not within the canonical belief systems): bonds are formed, a community of sharing is established, and deep spiritualism can be attained through the belief systems. Nevertheless, sometimes the philosophy/psychology of religious people confuses me; for example, the other day a born-again-something-or-another explained to me that she couldn’t trust a person who didn’t believe in God because they couldn’t possess a ‘high moral fiber’. I don’t know about other people, but my morals arise from a depth that is separate from religious dogma: morality and religious belief systems are certainly related, but they are not synonymous. I behave as a moral being because it is the right way to be, not because — for example — there is the reward of an afterlife. I take complete responsibility for my behavior: morality, an offspring of spirituality (personal and societal), should be inherent in religion, but spirituality flourishes in the secular world as well. I’ve known malicious Christians and altruistic atheists — and vice-versa; it is not the religion of a person that signifies character, it is their actions.

And for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction; Newton’s famous third law: if I push a boulder, some energy is imparted into the boulder, hopefully enough to move it, if that is my objective, but the boulder’s momentum may be greater than my force and I may be pushed backward instead. Or, more correctly, a combination of the two occurs: some energy is imparted to the boulder and some reflection is pushed back at me. Emotional energy, expressed as action, evolves a greater reaction than physical energy. In mechanics, energy is conserved, but in emotions, there is no conservation: an action can propagate ad nauseam. If I yell at my daughter (it has been known to happen), there is a similar action-reaction principle to the mechanical system: some portion (probably more than intended) is absorbed by her and a reaction (guilt) is an immediate (or delayed, depending on her reaction) reaction absorbed by me. She can react by yelling back and, well, it can escalate into ridiculousness. And these actions can cause future reactions, directed at each other; or, unfortunately, at other innocents, merely as a result of a build-up of the action-reaction matrix. It’s a good thing to keep in mind when dealing with others; I try to think before acting (perhaps both my daughters would question this, but I assert the veracity).

I recall my delayed reaction to a parenting class I attended when my daughters were in elementary school (it was a course put on by the education system: my wife was quite fond of these; I, on the other hand, as a stereotypical, pig-headed male, thought they were a waste of time. In retrospect, nothing like this is a ‘waste-of-time’, but I’m not sure I got a whole lot out of it (this could, I suppose, be chalked up to attitude)). The instructor gave a parent, a Mom, a hammer and nail and asked the woman to pound the nail into a short length of two-by-four. After the nail was suitably inserted, the instructor said, “That symbolizes yelling at your child.” Then the instructor had the parent pull out the nail with the claw of the hammer: this was a bit more difficult that pounding it in, but the nail was eventually extracted. “That’s your apology,” the instructor said; “but, as you can see, the hole is still there. This is the emotional damage and it can never be filled. You can fill it with some other material, but it will never be the same.” It was a powerful metaphor, and I could see the guilt on the assembled parents’ faces (in particular, the woman who had done the hammering). And then the instructor moved on to something else, but the metaphor stuck in my head and I lost concentration; it was a powerful metaphor, but there was something wrong with it. It wasn’t until after my wife and I got home that I figured out what was bothering me (I am a slow, methodical thinker). Real people aren’t made of wood: when humans are involved, it is possible to fill in the hole. It’s challenging, but it can make relationships stronger. That is what the parenting course should have focused on. Yes, we should try to control our outbursts, but they’re going to happen, and it’s fruitless to allow guilt to cripple you; instead, work through the aftermath to resolve the issues that got you there. Be honest. Admit when you’re wrong: it doesn’t make you weak, it makes you genuine. If the breaking point was a culmination of daily frustrations, then explain that. Be open. Work through it, even if the other person doesn’t understand. You don’t control the other person, only yourself. Do the best you can, it’s all you can do. Try not to sink back into frustration, but defend your position if you feel justified: you may never get agreement and that’s okay; take satisfaction in knowing you put it all out there, left nothing hidden.

Well, I’ve been tripping almost stream-of-consciousness for quite some time: pseudo-connected ideas have been spilling out of my noodle, but it must end sometime. I just don’t know how to stop. I remember being young and wondering how the universe could end. How could there be an end;

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

Faster-than-light Warp Drive

Image Credit: Dr. Harold ‘Sonny’ White

I read an article the other day that awoke my inner geek (and made me wonder, yet again, where my Buck Rogers’ ray gun and Starship Troopers’ space cadet cap got to).

Warp drive, the faster-than-light-travel I first heard about in the original Star Trek series, may be more realistic than I ever imagined. The ‘real-life’ spacecraft design is quite different, but the general concept is the same… 

In 1994, theoretical physicist Miguel Alcubierre proposed a real-world design for a warp drive. The proposed spacecraft was football-shaped and was attached to a flattened ring that encircled it (the ring was to provide the warp-drive phenomenon). Unfortunately, when Alcubierre did his calculations, the energy required to power his ship was enormous  (equal to the mass-energy of Jupiter). Recently, however, Dr. Harold ‘Sonny’ White (of NASA) reworked the design — replacing the flattened ring with a rounded doughnut — and the recalculated energy requirement is comparable to the mass-energy of NASA’s Voyager 1 probe (Dr. White suggests that further energy reductions are possible with the integration of oscillating space-warps). This may bring the idea of faster-than-light-travel out of the pages of the science fiction books of my teenage years and into reality!

The proposed warp drive does not contravene the theoretical universal speed-limit (as per Einstein’s Special Theory of Relativity); rather, the manipulation of space-time provides an escape clause.

The encircling doughnut-shaped ring produces a warp in space-time around the spacecraft: space in front of the craft contracts, and space behind expands, but the spacecraft remains within a cocoon of non-warped, ‘flat’ space-time and surfs the wave within the warp field. Apparently, the spaceship could theoretically approach a ‘virtual’ speed ten times faster than the speed of light. The math is impenetrable (at least to my thirty-years-in-the-past university calculus, which is, alas, not powerful enough to probe the magic); nevertheless, the important concept is that matter cannot go faster than the speed of light, but the fabric of space — space-time — can, and the spacecraft-cocoon will travel within warped space-time, which will deliver the craft to its destination faster than light can travel.

The ring that creates the warp field will probably require exotic matter (uncommon states of matter that have unusual properties, but are within the sphere of conventional physics). The generation of sufficient amounts of exotic matter to create and sustain the ring for the warp drive is currently speculative, but future advances in quantum mechanics may resolve this issue.

Dr. White, and associates, have set up an experiment — the White-Juday Warp Field Interferometer  (note: this link contains a lot of information on warp mechanics: for the experimental set-up, see p.8 of the pdf) — in an attempt to “…perturb space-time by one part in ten million.” Dr. White admits it’s a humble experiment, but is an important test of principles.

According to the Star Trek canon, warp drive was (will be) invented in 2063. Only time will tell if the prediction comes true…

Warp seven, Scotty; and Sulu, plot a course toward the “…second star to the right, straight on ’til morning.”.

.

.

.

.

.

 

Afterward

Afterward

.

…the sun disappears behind the mountains,

But a fiery glow lights Dragon’s crown.

Its long, plated body bathes by the far shore,

Its tail undulates in lazy waves.

.

Trees stretch to pierce the darkening clay

Where diminutive, pale blossoms open.

.

She tosses hair with a flick of her head:

The ethereal mane dances in the breeze.

Hewn and stained breastplate; battered shield:

Meaningless now.

She hurls the shield into the water. The armour follows.

And then her sword whirs through the dusk.

No splash perceived.

.

She caresses waning auguries,

Unfolds memories

And ferments the gravid loam

Of tomorrow.

 .

.

.

.

.

.

 

Dhalgren, a book review

Samuel R. Delany’s Dhalgren, as a novel, doesn’t fit the mold: there isn’t a linear plot, events re-occur as echoes and distortions, it is unclear what the story is about, and the mind cannot easily detect a natural reading rhythm: it is classified as a novel, I suppose, because there is no other word to describe it. Dhalgren makes the mind work (unless the reader gives up, throws the book into the fireplace, and picks up something else). As I read it, I became — in no particular order — confused, bored, angry, disgusted, and enlightened (these states — in various permutations — were repeated throughout my reading experience). The novel could be viewed as many different things, some of which I’ve outlined below (page numbers refer to the Vintage Trade Edition pictured):

• It could be read as science fiction literature; the labyrinthine city-setting could be on another world (in Dhalgren, the story takes place in a city called Bellona, purportedly in mid-America; interestingly, in Delany’s novel Triton, Bellona is a Martian city. Mars has two moons and, in Dhalgren, there are two moons at one point in the story). The city of Bellona may be situated at the edge of a singularity, within a rift in space-time that allows no communication with the rest of the universe. Science fiction elements are referred to several times in the book’s pages (e.g.: p.372-373, p.432, and p.439), but I sense that Delany didn’t appreciate being marginalized, or categorized, in a particular genre.
• It could be read as a panoramic view of the world from the mind of a schizophrenic: there are countless fragmentary episodes

 

Commuting with J.S. Bach

J.S. Bach’s Violin concertos kept me company on the way to work this morning; for the first time in years, I was sad that the commute wasn’t longer…

I’ve always enjoyed these concertos and, on this recording, the orchestra is inspired and the music pours with a flowing vivacity. There were two movements that were especially pleasurable:

• When the 3^rd movement (Allegro) of the D-minor Concerto (BWV 1043) first started, I thought the tempo was a bit fast, but it brought me to full consciousness and I thoroughly enjoyed the sprightly mood.
• The 2^nd movement (Adagio) of the Concerto in C (BWV 1064R) evoked a meditative walk through a field, with vestiges of morning mist swirling.

I usually like to listen to these concertos with my eyes closed, to fully appreciate the sounds as they roil over me, but that’s not viable while driving. I read somewhere that the pitch on this recording is ‘reduced’ because the ensemble is a period instrument orchestra and they were attempting to reproduce an authentic performance from the time-period. I can’t really notice a difference; I’m not that attuned to the nuances, I just know what I like.

I felt like Johann himself was in the passenger seat, talking to me; I’m not sure that what he was saying was what I heard, but it was awesome to have company on the drive to work.

Highly recommended.

.

.

.

 

A Blog retrospective

When I started this blog, I had only a vague idea about where I was going and what I wanted to say, so I set a targeted number of views and agreed with myself that, when the blog-views reached that number, I would assess and adjust as necessary. I’ve reached the agreed-upon number.

But now that I’m thinking back, I can’t recall why I started the blog. I wonder if vanity played a role: was I attempting to satisfy some inner need? Was it a desire for affirmation, an exercise to test whether people would actually visit my site (and enjoy it enough to return for more nuggets of my personal verve and élan)? After some honest thought, I have to admit that there was an element of vanity, but it wasn’t the motivating force.

I enjoy writing, I’m presumptuous enough to think I have an adequate mind (I had to tone that down while my ego wasn’t looking), and I honestly enjoy distributing knowledge (whether real or imagined), ideas, thoughts, found facts, and ‘yips, yaps and barks in the dark’.

I had few goals, other than to persevere no matter what (i.e.: if nobody visited, I’d continue to post).

I didn’t want to have a blog theme that was too specific; my interests are varied, and I wanted to share enough of my personality to develop interest from others, but not enough to scare people off.

So, what has happened since the beginning?…

I’m happy — and somewhat surprised — that I’ve had visits from around the world.

I think I’ve written some good posts, some bland posts, and others that were ill-advised, hackneyed, or not as witty as I thought at the time (and I recall at least one post that I deleted after-the-fact).

I have deviated somewhat from my natural voice: I’ve spent too much time trying to figure out what others want to read, and I’ve strayed somewhat from the kind of post I want to write. It’s satisfying when people view posts; but, deep down, what I really want to do is dig at my thoughts and distribute the shovels-full into the blogosphere. If a post generates views or provokes a response, great; if not, so be it. My focus moving forward is on getting back to the type of post that flows from an inner source. I want to share my zest for the mysteries of this wondrous universe. Far too few posts have provided a window to my soul.

I have a bad habit of posting before proof-reading carefully; my apologies to anyone who has tripped over spelling mistakes, grammar disasters, and/or awkward structure. I’ve been attempting to slow down recently, but I’m not sure it has helped. I think I need to slow down even further.

Time is a valuable commodity, and I wish I had more. I’ve spent a fair amount of time on my blog, but I haven’t devoted enough time and energy to visiting other peoples’ blogs. In particular, I haven’t spent enough time viewing the posts of people who have decided to follow my blog; from time-to-time I’ve perused their posts, but I haven’t searched systematically. After all, if they’ve enjoyed my blog, chances are good that we share some common interests and I’d enjoy their posts as well. I’m considering committing a post to a follower every now and then (which would have the added benefit of easing the burden of developing new post ideas).

In a similar vein to the paragraph above, I haven’t spent enough time looking through the posts of people who’ve liked my posts. I always take a quick look, but I’m going to make an effort (try to find the time) to crawl through their blogs in the future.

That’s about it; but, before concluding:

Thanks to those involved with the day-to-day business of making the blog platform work as well as it does. I’ve been using WordPress for over a year: it has been an enjoyable experience and the people in charge seem energetic, friendly, approachable, and eager to improve the product. Kudos to all involved!

And I appreciate all the visits to Almost Falling; in particular, thanks to those who have liked a post (it gives my ego the boost it sometimes needs), thanks to those who’ve taken the time to leave a comment (feedback is very useful (but please be gentle with negative feedback; I bruise easily)), and — last, but certainly not least — thanks to those who’ve chosen to follow the blog (I’m assuming you enjoy the content (or at least enough of it to want to come back)).

.

.

.

 

 

 

 

 

.

dbj 2012-09-12

.

.

.