Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
"Ash Wednesday". T. S. Eliot
Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?
Because I do not hope to know again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again
Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice
And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us
Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.
Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.
II
Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree
In the cool of the day, having fed to satiety
On my legs my heart my liver and that which had been contained
In the hollow round of my skull. And God said
Shall these bones live? shall these
Bones live? And that which had been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this Lady
And because of her loveliness, and because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
It is this which recovers
My guts the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions
Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn
In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.
Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.
There is no life in them. As I am forgotten
And would be forgotten, so I would forget
Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said
Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only
The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping
With the burden of the grasshopper, saying
Lady of silences
Calm and distressed
Torn and most whole
Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving
Worried reposeful
The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end
Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied
The greater torment
Of love satisfied
End of the endless
Journey to no end
Conclusion of all that
Is inconclusible
Speech without word and
Word of no speech
Grace to the Mother
For the Garden
Where all love ends.
Under a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining
We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each other,
Under a tree in the cool of the day, with the blessing of sand,
Forgetting themselves and each other, united
In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye
Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity
Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.
III
At the first turning of the second stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitul face of hope and of despair.
At the second turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.
At the first turning of the third stair
Was a slotted window bellied like the figs's fruit
And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene
The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green
Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.
Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,
Lilac and brown hair;
Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind over the third stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the third stair.
Lord, I am not worthy
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only.
IV
Who walked between the violet and the violet
Who walked between
The various ranks of varied green
Going in white and blue, in Mary's colour,
Talking of trivial things
In ignorance and knowledge of eternal dolour
Who moved among the others as they walked,
Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs
Made cool the dry rock and made firm the sand
In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary's colour,
Sovegna vos
Here are the years that walk between, bearing
Away the fiddles and the flutes, restoring
One who moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing
White light folded, sheathing about her, folded.
The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher dream
While jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.
The silent sister veiled in white and blue
Between the yews, behind the garden god,
Whose flute is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke no word
But the fountain sprang up and the bird sang down
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard, unspoken
Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew
And after this our exile
V
If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.
O my people, what have I done unto thee.
Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice
Will the veiled sister pray for
Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,
Those who are torn on the horn between season and season, time and time, between
Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait
In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray
For children at the gate
Who will not go away and cannot pray:
Pray for those who chose and oppose
O my people, what have I done unto thee.
Will the veiled sister between the slender
Yew trees pray for those who offend her
And are terrified and cannot surrender
And affirm before the world and deny between the rocks
In the last desert before the last blue rocks
The desert in the garden the garden in the desert
Of drouth, spitting from the mouth the withered apple-seed.
O my people.
VI
Although I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn
Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings
And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth This is the time of tension between dying and birth The place of solitude where three dreams cross Between blue rocks But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away Let the other yew be shaken and reply.
Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?
Because I do not hope to know again
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again
Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessed face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice
And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us
Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.
Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.
II
Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper-tree
In the cool of the day, having fed to satiety
On my legs my heart my liver and that which had been contained
In the hollow round of my skull. And God said
Shall these bones live? shall these
Bones live? And that which had been contained
In the bones (which were already dry) said chirping:
Because of the goodness of this Lady
And because of her loveliness, and because
She honours the Virgin in meditation,
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled
Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love
To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
It is this which recovers
My guts the strings of my eyes and the indigestible portions
Which the leopards reject. The Lady is withdrawn
In a white gown, to contemplation, in a white gown.
Let the whiteness of bones atone to forgetfulness.
There is no life in them. As I am forgotten
And would be forgotten, so I would forget
Thus devoted, concentrated in purpose. And God said
Prophesy to the wind, to the wind only for only
The wind will listen. And the bones sang chirping
With the burden of the grasshopper, saying
Lady of silences
Calm and distressed
Torn and most whole
Rose of memory
Rose of forgetfulness
Exhausted and life-giving
Worried reposeful
The single Rose
Is now the Garden
Where all loves end
Terminate torment
Of love unsatisfied
The greater torment
Of love satisfied
End of the endless
Journey to no end
Conclusion of all that
Is inconclusible
Speech without word and
Word of no speech
Grace to the Mother
For the Garden
Where all love ends.
Under a juniper-tree the bones sang, scattered and shining
We are glad to be scattered, we did little good to each other,
Under a tree in the cool of the day, with the blessing of sand,
Forgetting themselves and each other, united
In the quiet of the desert. This is the land which ye
Shall divide by lot. And neither division nor unity
Matters. This is the land. We have our inheritance.
III
At the first turning of the second stair
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitul face of hope and of despair.
At the second turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jagged, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an aged shark.
At the first turning of the third stair
Was a slotted window bellied like the figs's fruit
And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene
The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green
Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.
Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,
Lilac and brown hair;
Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind over the third stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the third stair.
Lord, I am not worthy
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only.
IV
Who walked between the violet and the violet
Who walked between
The various ranks of varied green
Going in white and blue, in Mary's colour,
Talking of trivial things
In ignorance and knowledge of eternal dolour
Who moved among the others as they walked,
Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs
Made cool the dry rock and made firm the sand
In blue of larkspur, blue of Mary's colour,
Sovegna vos
Here are the years that walk between, bearing
Away the fiddles and the flutes, restoring
One who moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing
White light folded, sheathing about her, folded.
The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher dream
While jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.
The silent sister veiled in white and blue
Between the yews, behind the garden god,
Whose flute is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke no word
But the fountain sprang up and the bird sang down
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard, unspoken
Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew
And after this our exile
V
If the lost word is lost, if the spent word is spent
If the unheard, unspoken
Word is unspoken, unheard;
Still is the unspoken word, the Word unheard,
The Word without a word, the Word within
The world and for the world;
And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.
O my people, what have I done unto thee.
Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny the voice
Will the veiled sister pray for
Those who walk in darkness, who chose thee and oppose thee,
Those who are torn on the horn between season and season, time and time, between
Hour and hour, word and word, power and power, those who wait
In darkness? Will the veiled sister pray
For children at the gate
Who will not go away and cannot pray:
Pray for those who chose and oppose
O my people, what have I done unto thee.
Will the veiled sister between the slender
Yew trees pray for those who offend her
And are terrified and cannot surrender
And affirm before the world and deny between the rocks
In the last desert before the last blue rocks
The desert in the garden the garden in the desert
Of drouth, spitting from the mouth the withered apple-seed.
O my people.
VI
Although I do not hope to turn again
Although I do not hope
Although I do not hope to turn
Wavering between the profit and the loss
In this brief transit where the dreams cross
The dreamcrossed twilight between birth and dying
(Bless me father) though I do not wish to wish these things
From the wide window towards the granite shore
The white sails still fly seaward, seaward flying
Unbroken wings
And the lost heart stiffens and rejoices
In the lost lilac and the lost sea voices
And the weak spirit quickens to rebel
For the bent golden-rod and the lost sea smell
Quickens to recover
The cry of quail and the whirling plover
And the blind eye creates
The empty forms between the ivory gates
And smell renews the salt savour of the sandy earth This is the time of tension between dying and birth The place of solitude where three dreams cross Between blue rocks But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away Let the other yew be shaken and reply.
Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.
I Am Again on A T.Eliot Cycle...
LITTLE GIDDING
(No. 4 of 'Four Quartets')
T.S. Eliot
I
Midwinter spring is its own season
Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown,
Suspended in time, between pole and tropic.
When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire,
The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches,
In windless cold that is the heart's heat,
Reflecting in a watery mirror
A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon.
And glow more intense than blaze of branch, or brazier,
Stirs the dumb spirit: no wind, but pentecostal fire
In the dark time of the year. Between melting and freezing
The soul's sap quivers. There is no earth smell
Or smell of living thing. This is the spring time
But not in time's covenant. Now the hedgerow
Is blanched for an hour with transitory blossom
Of snow, a bloom more sudden
Than that of summer, neither budding nor fading,
Not in the scheme of generation.
Where is the summer, the unimaginable
Zero summer?
If you came this way,
Taking the route you would be likely to take
From the place you would be likely to come from,
If you came this way in may time, you would find the hedges
White again, in May, with voluptuary sweetness.
It would be the same at the end of the journey,
If you came at night like a broken king,
If you came by day not knowing what you came for,
It would be the same, when you leave the rough road
And turn behind the pig-sty to the dull facade
And the tombstone. And what you thought you came for
Is only a shell, a husk of meaning
From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled
If at all. Either you had no purpose
Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured
And is altered in fulfilment. There are other places
Which also are the world's end, some at the sea jaws,
Or over a dark lake, in a desert or a city—
But this is the nearest, in place and time,
Now and in England.
If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
Here, the intersection of the timeless moment
Is England and nowhere. Never and always.
(No. 4 of 'Four Quartets')
T.S. Eliot
I
Midwinter spring is its own season
Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown,
Suspended in time, between pole and tropic.
When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire,
The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches,
In windless cold that is the heart's heat,
Reflecting in a watery mirror
A glare that is blindness in the early afternoon.
And glow more intense than blaze of branch, or brazier,
Stirs the dumb spirit: no wind, but pentecostal fire
In the dark time of the year. Between melting and freezing
The soul's sap quivers. There is no earth smell
Or smell of living thing. This is the spring time
But not in time's covenant. Now the hedgerow
Is blanched for an hour with transitory blossom
Of snow, a bloom more sudden
Than that of summer, neither budding nor fading,
Not in the scheme of generation.
Where is the summer, the unimaginable
Zero summer?
If you came this way,
Taking the route you would be likely to take
From the place you would be likely to come from,
If you came this way in may time, you would find the hedges
White again, in May, with voluptuary sweetness.
It would be the same at the end of the journey,
If you came at night like a broken king,
If you came by day not knowing what you came for,
It would be the same, when you leave the rough road
And turn behind the pig-sty to the dull facade
And the tombstone. And what you thought you came for
Is only a shell, a husk of meaning
From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled
If at all. Either you had no purpose
Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured
And is altered in fulfilment. There are other places
Which also are the world's end, some at the sea jaws,
Or over a dark lake, in a desert or a city—
But this is the nearest, in place and time,
Now and in England.
If you came this way,
Taking any route, starting from anywhere,
At any time or at any season,
It would always be the same: you would have to put off
Sense and notion. You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report. You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more
Than an order of words, the conscious occupation
Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying.
And what the dead had no speech for, when living,
They can tell you, being dead: the communication
Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.
Here, the intersection of the timeless moment
Is England and nowhere. Never and always.
Friday, March 12, 2010
An old poem... Threes
Mind droppings.
The number '3'' -- an old poem.
Remember the "tree poem" ?
------------------------------------------
"To be sung by Niels Bohr"
I think that I shall never see
A number lovelier than 3;
For Three is less than Six or Four
And than 1 it's slightly more.
All things in nature come in 3s,
Like therefores, trios, Q.E.D.s;
While dollars gain more dignity
If augmented 3 x 3 --
A Three whose slender curves are pressed
By banks, for compound interest;
Oh, would that, paying loans or rent,
My rates were only 3%!
3^2 expands with rapture free,
And reaches toward ∞;
3 compliments each x and y,
And intimately lives with π.
A circle's number of degrees
Are best divided up by threes
But wrapped in dim obscurity
Is the √-3.
Atoms are split by men like me,
But only God is 1 in 3.
------------------------------------------
PS: in symbolic logic and discourse, the 'therefore' or 'QED' statement is symbolize by a triangle of three dots, like:
∴
QED is Latin, often quoted at the end of a proof or demonstration, meaning:
Q.E.D. is an acronym of the Latin phrase quod erat demonstrandum, which means "that which was to be demonstrated".
The number '3'' -- an old poem.
Remember the "tree poem" ?
------------------------------------------
"To be sung by Niels Bohr"
I think that I shall never see
A number lovelier than 3;
For Three is less than Six or Four
And than 1 it's slightly more.
All things in nature come in 3s,
Like therefores, trios, Q.E.D.s;
While dollars gain more dignity
If augmented 3 x 3 --
A Three whose slender curves are pressed
By banks, for compound interest;
Oh, would that, paying loans or rent,
My rates were only 3%!
3^2 expands with rapture free,
And reaches toward ∞;
3 compliments each x and y,
And intimately lives with π.
A circle's number of degrees
Are best divided up by threes
But wrapped in dim obscurity
Is the √-3.
Atoms are split by men like me,
But only God is 1 in 3.
------------------------------------------
PS: in symbolic logic and discourse, the 'therefore' or 'QED' statement is symbolize by a triangle of three dots, like:
∴
QED is Latin, often quoted at the end of a proof or demonstration, meaning:
Q.E.D. is an acronym of the Latin phrase quod erat demonstrandum, which means "that which was to be demonstrated".
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Chilean Earthquake Moved Entire City 10 Feet West, Shifted Other Parts of South America
ScienceDaily (Mar. 8, 2010) — The massive magnitude 8.8 earthquake that struck the west coast of Chile last month moved the entire city of Concepcion at least 10 feet to the west, and shifted other parts of South America as far apart as the Falkland Islands and Fortaleza, Brazil.
These preliminary measurements, produced from data gathered by researchers from four universities and several agencies, including geophysicists on the ground in Chile, paint a much clearer picture of the power behind this temblor, believed to be the fifth-most-powerful since instruments have been available to measure seismic shifts.
Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina and across the continent from the quake's epicenter, moved about 1 inch to the west. And Chile's capital, Santiago, moved about 11 inches to the west-southwest. The cities of Valparaiso and Mendoza, Argentina, northeast of Concepcion, also moved significantly.
These preliminary measurements, produced from data gathered by researchers from four universities and several agencies, including geophysicists on the ground in Chile, paint a much clearer picture of the power behind this temblor, believed to be the fifth-most-powerful since instruments have been available to measure seismic shifts.
Buenos Aires, the capital of Argentina and across the continent from the quake's epicenter, moved about 1 inch to the west. And Chile's capital, Santiago, moved about 11 inches to the west-southwest. The cities of Valparaiso and Mendoza, Argentina, northeast of Concepcion, also moved significantly.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Avatar - the word/concept, not the James Cameron movies
The word and the background of 'avatar' have a long history in Science Fiction literature. The word itself means:
[Sanskrit avatāraḥ, descent (of a deity from heaven), avatar : ava, down + tarati, he crosses; see terə-2 in Indo-European roots.]
The appearance or manifestation of a God (originally Vishnu) or other supernatural being in our perceivable human realm.
SF reference: "Lord of Light" by Roger Zelazny, winner of the Hugo award in 1968.
The concept -- and indeed the 'idea' of cyberspace -- was first widely promulgated in Verner Vinge's "True Names" in 1981.
Later the term 'cyberspace' was really entered into modern usage because of William Gibson's 1984 novel "Neuromancer" which won the "Triple Crown" of Science Fiction awards: the Hugo, Nebula and Philip K. Dick awards, and is widely regarded as the first novel of the new 'cyperpunk' genre.
The concept and meaning of an 'avatar' was then further advanced by novelist Neal Stephenson in his 1992 novel' Snow Crash" (which btw was listed in Time Magazine's list of '100 Best Novels Published in English since 1923')
It is to be noted that in the cyberworld, the word 'avatar' is not synonymous with 'icon'. In your AOL or whatever-supported messaging system, you are able to produce an 'icon' to present a small image of your choice to people to whom you connect, and change this extremely limited image at will.
An 'avatar' as referred to in the above works is a high-level, quasi-independent complete persona/entity, displaying both imagery regarding its appearance but also acting as an 'agent' in a complete alternative 'reality' -- cyberspace -- controlled by (maybe) but removed from from the normal world of reality in which we live. As a result, an 'icon' is far-removed from the concept of what an 'avatar' might be, and the use of these words as synonyms is incorrect.
[Sanskrit avatāraḥ, descent (of a deity from heaven), avatar : ava, down + tarati, he crosses; see terə-2 in Indo-European roots.]
The appearance or manifestation of a God (originally Vishnu) or other supernatural being in our perceivable human realm.
SF reference: "Lord of Light" by Roger Zelazny, winner of the Hugo award in 1968.
The concept -- and indeed the 'idea' of cyberspace -- was first widely promulgated in Verner Vinge's "True Names" in 1981.
Later the term 'cyberspace' was really entered into modern usage because of William Gibson's 1984 novel "Neuromancer" which won the "Triple Crown" of Science Fiction awards: the Hugo, Nebula and Philip K. Dick awards, and is widely regarded as the first novel of the new 'cyperpunk' genre.
The concept and meaning of an 'avatar' was then further advanced by novelist Neal Stephenson in his 1992 novel' Snow Crash" (which btw was listed in Time Magazine's list of '100 Best Novels Published in English since 1923')
It is to be noted that in the cyberworld, the word 'avatar' is not synonymous with 'icon'. In your AOL or whatever-supported messaging system, you are able to produce an 'icon' to present a small image of your choice to people to whom you connect, and change this extremely limited image at will.
An 'avatar' as referred to in the above works is a high-level, quasi-independent complete persona/entity, displaying both imagery regarding its appearance but also acting as an 'agent' in a complete alternative 'reality' -- cyberspace -- controlled by (maybe) but removed from from the normal world of reality in which we live. As a result, an 'icon' is far-removed from the concept of what an 'avatar' might be, and the use of these words as synonyms is incorrect.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
It's Settled. Asteroid Impact Caused Dinosaur Extinction/KT-Boundary findings
So, it's settled. A multnational- multidiciplinary study of the available data conclusively determine that an asteroid impact approx. 65 million years ago precipitated (although did not INSTANTLY cause) the extinction of the creatures commonly known as 'dinosaurs' on earth. This resulted in the conditions allowing surviving small mammals to 'inherit the earth', and indeed for the various rsulting species of hominids to which we belong to evolve.
Pretty much, END OF SUBJECT.
Journal Reference:
1.Peter Schulte, Laia Alegret, Ignacio Arenillas, José A. Arz, Penny J. Barton, Paul R. Bown, Timothy J. Bralower, Gail L. Christeson, Philippe Claeys, Charles S. Cockell, Gareth S. Collins, Alexander Deutsch, Tamara J. Goldin, Kazuhisa Goto, José M. Grajales-Nishimura, Richard A. F. Grieve, Sean P. S. Gulick, Kirk R. Johnson, Wolfgang Kiessling, Christian Koeberl, David A. Kring, Kenneth G. MacLeod, Takafumi Matsui, Jay Melosh, Alessandro Montanari, Joanna V. Morgan, Clive R. Neal, Douglas J. Nichols, Richard D. Norris, Elisabetta Pierazzo, Greg Ravizza, Mario Rebolledo-Vieyra, Wolf Uwe Reimold, Eric Robin, Tobias Salge, Robert P. Speijer, Arthur R. Sweet, Jaime Urrutia-Fucugauchi, Vivi Vajda, Michael T. Whalen, and Pi S. Willumsen. The Chicxulub Asteroid Impact and Mass Extinction at the Cretaceous-Paleogene Boundary. Science, 2010: 327 (5970): 1214-1218 DOI: 10.1126/science.1177265
Pretty much, END OF SUBJECT.
Journal Reference:
1.Peter Schulte, Laia Alegret, Ignacio Arenillas, José A. Arz, Penny J. Barton, Paul R. Bown, Timothy J. Bralower, Gail L. Christeson, Philippe Claeys, Charles S. Cockell, Gareth S. Collins, Alexander Deutsch, Tamara J. Goldin, Kazuhisa Goto, José M. Grajales-Nishimura, Richard A. F. Grieve, Sean P. S. Gulick, Kirk R. Johnson, Wolfgang Kiessling, Christian Koeberl, David A. Kring, Kenneth G. MacLeod, Takafumi Matsui, Jay Melosh, Alessandro Montanari, Joanna V. Morgan, Clive R. Neal, Douglas J. Nichols, Richard D. Norris, Elisabetta Pierazzo, Greg Ravizza, Mario Rebolledo-Vieyra, Wolf Uwe Reimold, Eric Robin, Tobias Salge, Robert P. Speijer, Arthur R. Sweet, Jaime Urrutia-Fucugauchi, Vivi Vajda, Michael T. Whalen, and Pi S. Willumsen. The Chicxulub Asteroid Impact and Mass Extinction at the Cretaceous-Paleogene Boundary. Science, 2010: 327 (5970): 1214-1218 DOI: 10.1126/science.1177265
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Subterranean Homesick Blues - Bob Dylan
Johnny's in the basement mixing up the medicine
I'm on the pavement thinking about the government
The man in the trench coat, badge out, laid off
Says he's got a bad cough, wants to get it paid off
Look out kid, it's somethin' you did
God knows when, but you're doing it again
You better duck down the alleyway, lookin' for a new friend
The man in the coonskin cap in the pig pen
Wants eleven dollar bills, but you only got ten
Maggie comes fleet foot, face full of black soot
Talkin' that the heat put plants in the bed but
The phone's tapped anyway, Maggie says that many say
They must bust in early May, orders from the D.A.
Look out kid, don't matter what you did
Walk on your tip toes, don't try No Doz
Better stay away from those that carry around a fire hose
Keep a clean nose, watch the plain clothes
You don't need a weather man to know which way the wind blows
Ah, get sick, get well, hang around the Ink Well
Ring a bell, hard to tell if anything is goin' to sell
Try hard, get barred, get back, write braille
Get jailed, jump bail, join the army, if you fail
Look out kid, you're gonna get hit
But losers, cheaters, six-time users
Hangin' 'round the theaters
Girl by the whirlpool's lookin' for a new fool
Don't follow leaders, and watch your parkin' meters
Ah get born, keep warm, short pants, romance, learn to dance
Get dressed, get blessed, try to be a success
Please her, please him, buy gifts, don't steal, don't lift
Twenty years of schoolin' and they put you on the day shift
Look out kid, they keep it all hid
Better jump down a manhole, light yourself a candle
Don't wear sandals, try to avoid the scandals
Don't wanna be a bum, you better chew gum
The pump don't work 'cause the vandals took the handle
I'm on the pavement thinking about the government
The man in the trench coat, badge out, laid off
Says he's got a bad cough, wants to get it paid off
Look out kid, it's somethin' you did
God knows when, but you're doing it again
You better duck down the alleyway, lookin' for a new friend
The man in the coonskin cap in the pig pen
Wants eleven dollar bills, but you only got ten
Maggie comes fleet foot, face full of black soot
Talkin' that the heat put plants in the bed but
The phone's tapped anyway, Maggie says that many say
They must bust in early May, orders from the D.A.
Look out kid, don't matter what you did
Walk on your tip toes, don't try No Doz
Better stay away from those that carry around a fire hose
Keep a clean nose, watch the plain clothes
You don't need a weather man to know which way the wind blows
Ah, get sick, get well, hang around the Ink Well
Ring a bell, hard to tell if anything is goin' to sell
Try hard, get barred, get back, write braille
Get jailed, jump bail, join the army, if you fail
Look out kid, you're gonna get hit
But losers, cheaters, six-time users
Hangin' 'round the theaters
Girl by the whirlpool's lookin' for a new fool
Don't follow leaders, and watch your parkin' meters
Ah get born, keep warm, short pants, romance, learn to dance
Get dressed, get blessed, try to be a success
Please her, please him, buy gifts, don't steal, don't lift
Twenty years of schoolin' and they put you on the day shift
Look out kid, they keep it all hid
Better jump down a manhole, light yourself a candle
Don't wear sandals, try to avoid the scandals
Don't wanna be a bum, you better chew gum
The pump don't work 'cause the vandals took the handle
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