(no subject)
Do you ever stare up at the sky at night and wonder what it is you don't see? For me, about all I can make out is a mirky, dark cloak over the city. You can't even call the colour black because light pollution will never allow it to be that pure. Instead it reminds me of that ugly attempt during childhood to make black out of every paint you have. So you splash down your red and your yellow and your blue and your green and so on, and you rub them all together frantically. Well, no, that's not making black, it's brown. Okay, time for some more blue and red since they're darker colours. That'll help, right? You keep going and going, but eventually you're just wasting your time since it's not going to happen. The combination of all colours is white, and the absence of colour is black. Silly children, right?
But the sky should be black, and the stars should have colour. Instead we have off-black and whitish specks, if that. Red giants look just the same as planets in many instances. You couldn't really pick Jupiter out just by looking up any easier than you'd be able to tell me why you think Pluto should be considered a planet. If you want to know where I stand on the matter, I think that it's been called that for so long that to bunk it down a rank would just be cruel and unusual punishment for the large-planet-like-mass and students who learned about My Very Eager Mum Just Served Us Nine Pies or whatever means necessary to memorise the planets, but that is neither here nor there. I think it's very important for us to look up there just so that we can wish that we could see it a little clearer. At least then we have an idea of how tiny we are and what it means to be made of carbon and other little sticky things.
Just so you know, lifeforms from planets unknown have to exist. Take a look at any of the tab rags or newspapers and try to convince me otherwise. Mind that I didn't say anything about the intelligence of said lifeforms.
Today I picked up The Road to Wigan Pier by George Orwell. You won't find most people reading this work over Animal Farm or 1984, mainly because this is a non-fiction work. If you're ever feeling low on yourself, I encourage you to pick it up and just read a bit about the coal miners of yore. It'll make you either depressed for the former conditions of England or better about yourself. I found a quote in the midst of this work (purchased for only a quid at some shabby hideaway bookstore a couple of years ago and collecting dust in a corner until this very week) that I would like to share with you. May you enjoy it and derive more inspiration from Orwell than myself. After all, the man was paid for this sort of rubbish.
I am a degenerate modern semi-intellectual who would die if I did not get my early morning cup of tea and my New Statesman every Friday. Clearly I do not, in a sense, 'want' to return to a simpler, harder, probably agricultural way of life. In the same sense I don't 'want' to cut down my drinking, to pay my debts, to take enough exercise, to be faithful to my wife, etc., etc.
I've been fighting with my email provider, and now I'm just going to have to do a bit of a switch over. Bear with me here. Rowntreester@gmail.com. Can you believe that? Yeah, me either, but apparently someone else was witty enough to take emperordave. I don't know if I should be annoyed or chuffed.
But the sky should be black, and the stars should have colour. Instead we have off-black and whitish specks, if that. Red giants look just the same as planets in many instances. You couldn't really pick Jupiter out just by looking up any easier than you'd be able to tell me why you think Pluto should be considered a planet. If you want to know where I stand on the matter, I think that it's been called that for so long that to bunk it down a rank would just be cruel and unusual punishment for the large-planet-like-mass and students who learned about My Very Eager Mum Just Served Us Nine Pies or whatever means necessary to memorise the planets, but that is neither here nor there. I think it's very important for us to look up there just so that we can wish that we could see it a little clearer. At least then we have an idea of how tiny we are and what it means to be made of carbon and other little sticky things.
Just so you know, lifeforms from planets unknown have to exist. Take a look at any of the tab rags or newspapers and try to convince me otherwise. Mind that I didn't say anything about the intelligence of said lifeforms.
Today I picked up The Road to Wigan Pier by George Orwell. You won't find most people reading this work over Animal Farm or 1984, mainly because this is a non-fiction work. If you're ever feeling low on yourself, I encourage you to pick it up and just read a bit about the coal miners of yore. It'll make you either depressed for the former conditions of England or better about yourself. I found a quote in the midst of this work (purchased for only a quid at some shabby hideaway bookstore a couple of years ago and collecting dust in a corner until this very week) that I would like to share with you. May you enjoy it and derive more inspiration from Orwell than myself. After all, the man was paid for this sort of rubbish.
I am a degenerate modern semi-intellectual who would die if I did not get my early morning cup of tea and my New Statesman every Friday. Clearly I do not, in a sense, 'want' to return to a simpler, harder, probably agricultural way of life. In the same sense I don't 'want' to cut down my drinking, to pay my debts, to take enough exercise, to be faithful to my wife, etc., etc.
I've been fighting with my email provider, and now I'm just going to have to do a bit of a switch over. Bear with me here. Rowntreester@gmail.com. Can you believe that? Yeah, me either, but apparently someone else was witty enough to take emperordave. I don't know if I should be annoyed or chuffed.