When a super star dies, like the artist formally known as Prince, it collapses in on itself and then explodes out into the void omnidirectionally at fantastic speeds.
The ashes of a supernova, like Prince, spread out across great distances over eons of time to eventually enrich newly forming stars—stars of later generations—thereby influencing their color, their glow.
You know what I’m sayin’?
The Crab Nebula
6,500 light-years away…
False Color Image
• Blue indicates oxygen & sulfur ions
• Red indicates star dust (lots of star dust)
• Purple indicates Prince
The worst part, in my opinion, about any suicide bomber who truly believes they will end up in heaven for killing themselves and others is that they will never know that they are utterly wrong about everything.
Supersaturated in delusional ecstasy and with an unwavering sense of righteousness, they abruptly derail their own train of thought. For them, that one final moment may as well last forever.
Some ideas are dreadfully more dangerous than any deadly weapon.
Yesterday, while sitting on a park bench near Stony Brook station, I met a man almost twice my age with a large dog. We soon started chatting about dogs and other things. Naturally, the conversation turned cosmic in a matter of minutes. When he was younger and in college he used to show his friends the moon, planets, and even other galaxies with his telescope—just like I do with my friends and family. After some time he asked me what I thought about the Flat Earth theory. Assuming we were on the same page, I told him I thought it was no doubt bogus. We’ve known better since the 1500s, right?
Our conversation only grew more interesting when he went on to question the existence of gravity, the historical accuracy of the Apollo moon landings, the authenticity of any celestial images published by NASA (or any other space agency), and the true size and distance of both the sun and the moon. He didn’t claim to know anything for certain, but instead recommended that I follow a YouTube blogger whom he surely contracted these backwards ideas from.
This man was well spoken, super laid back, and as friendly as can be. We had a lot in common, but the one thing we consistently disagreed upon was reality. He seemed to have somehow been convinced by an anti-intellectual evangelist not only that the Earth may be flat, but also that we may be living in some sort of elaborate worldwide Truman Show.
Questioning everything with an open mind and interrogating nature is not only healthy for us as individuals but also necessary for the progress of our technological species. But common sense tells us next to nothing about our place in space, about the shape of our world, or about who we are or how we got here. Instead, we use the scientific method as a flashlight to reveal hidden and sometimes startling truths. No matter how uncomfortable these truths may be, we should never turn our eyes away from what we illuminate (or even worse—turn off our only reliable source of light altogether).
If I learned anything from this random encounter with a total stranger it’s that being a good, kindhearted person does in no way immune you from those trying to infect your mind with absurdities.
Be careful out there.
I think music is the closest thing to magic that exists in this world.
The planet Venus is passing in front of the sun at this very moment. It’s called a transit. The last time this occurred was in 2004 when I was younger and unaware. The next time this will happen will be in 2117 when I am dead and unaware.
I place astrology in the same category as palmistry, numerology and psychic readings. In other words, nonsense. However, the crossing or intersecting (at least as it appears) of two celestial bodies does bring about a sense of power.
I won’t be able to actually witness this event; the skies were cloudy and the sun has now set. I just thought I’d write something down.
Written: Tuesday, June 5th 2012 – 9:23pm
It’s a beautiful day.
The skies may still be
But the sun is no where
near as bright
I’m swimming through
a void of irrationality.
My time without her
This moment, this time
is effect with no cause.
No reason, no rhyme.
A dance without song.
I miss her beauty, her face.
Her walk, her pace.
Her hand in mine.