Based on Algebraic Topology, in particular, Simplicial Complexes composed of differential-sized planar
elements -- n-D oriented-simplexes (simplices) -- collectively generating a manifold --> spacetime.

Interesting article in the July, 2008 edition of Scientific American.

*************

Causal Dynamical Triangulations
from Wikipedia.

Causal Dynamical Triangulations and the Quest for Quantum Gravity
Submitted April 2, 2010
PDF Download available

Background Geometry in 4-D Causal Dynamical Triangulations
by Andrzej Gorlich
PDF file -- 860 Kb -- June 17, 2008
-- Institute of Physics, Jagiellonian University, Krakow --

Causal Dynamical Triangulation of Quantum Gravity in Three Dimensions
by J. Z. Zhang, Cornell University
-- August 29, 2007 --

Quantum Gravity, or The Art of Building Spacetime
Submitted April 28, 2006
PDF Download available

The Universe From Scratch
PDF Download available

Renate Loll's Home Page
Discrete Approaches to Quantum Gravity in Four Dimensions
Causal Dynamical Triangulations
PDF file -- 870 Kb -- June 2, 2007
"(Re-) Constructing the Universe"

Ambjorn, J J.Ambjorn

Jurkiewicz, J J. Jurkiewicz

E-Print Archive for Physics and Mathematics

Deriving Dimensions
Physical Review Focus
September 28, 2004

Connecting Mathematics

*************

It's not easy for me to take corporeal form. I can only do it for a brief period of time; the energy outlay is enormous. But I'll try to maintain stasis for as long as possible so I can tell you what I've discovered. Two hundred and fifty seven years ago, I died, or at least it seemed so. Let me attempt to recount the events leading up to it, and those that followed.

I awoke that morning later than usual; the ramifications of copious amounts of champaigne rumbling through my head like a herd of elephants. An artist friend had finally established himself in the real world; after years struggling with low-rent galleries, a well-known critic touted his paintings. Only days after the review appeared in the paper he was contacted by the owner of an upscale gallery, one where people actually bought works instead of just looking and leaving, eating the cheese and drinking the wine. I've done that, many a time, it's a way to spend a sunday with a lady friend. Yesterday, or the previous day, to be more accurate, was the first of his showings -- to last two weeks. So, a celebration was in order.

Tea helped bring me back to some semblance of life, although, strangely, my mind seemed rather clear, almost sharp. Heavy socializing often had this effect after the doldrums of aloneness. Too much time spent thinking is not good for you. Curiously, while having tea in the garden, I found myself reading a yellowed pamphlet I discovered -- hidden in my bookcase -- on Blaise Pascal's speculation that a vacuum existed above the atmosphere -- in outer space, no less. I had no idea what to make of it. How could he know? In the midst of pondering this I left my apartment and proceeded to breakfast, clearing my head in the doing, with an old friend of university days, or at least, I thought he was, at that time.

We'd bumped into one another the previous evening as I left Marie's salon west of the canal. It was drizzling so we both had our heads bowed and almost collided right there on the street. It was far too miserable to chat, and I was far too drunk, so we arranged to meet at Cafe Leboeuf, my favorite retreat. As I walked, thoughts of the vacuum of space gave over to thoughts of this friend from school. Just as suddenly I found myself entertaining a shadow of doubt brought on by the murkiness of aged memory; it had been years ago, after all. Had he really been a friend? How close? Or had we only shared a few classes together, the familiarity of a face from that richer and happier period in my life giving our relationship an unwarranted significance?

As I crossed streets and navigated absently through carriages and people, I ransacked my brain for proof, a single shred of experiential evidence to corroborate my inclination. He certainly considered us friends and remembered me almost instantly. In fact, it'd been on his insistence that I willingly -- out of loneliness? -- concurred. My emotional state had been rather dry for some time, perhaps I was merely wishing it to be true.

***************************

CONTINUED.....

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Exoplanet Exploration
Planet Quest: New World Atlas
Planetquest: Timeline

Star Collection

Red Supergiant V838: Monocerotis

Supernova -- 1987A

1987A in Large Magellanic Cloud

The Chandra X-ray Observatory Center

Photo Album

NASA's Chandra Sees Brightest Supernova Ever

SN 2006gy

DARK ENERGY FOUND
STIFLING GROWTH
IN UNIVERSE

Astronomy Picture of the Day

GALAXY ZOO 2

Large Hadron Collider [LHC] Home
[where Cosmology and Particle Physics merge]

A Review of the Universe
Table of Contents
General Index
Quantum Foam and Loop Quantum Gravity

Open Questions: Physics and Astronomy
"A place for everyone to explore on the frontiers of science."

Living Reviews
"Living Reviews are scientific open access journals, publishing review articles
that provide insightful surveys on research progress in the fields they cover,
and guiding readers to the most important literature in the field."

Science Daily
Discovering A New Earth 430 Light Years Away
Earth and Moon Formed Later Than Previously Thought

The Worlds of David Darling
The Internet Encyclopedia of Science

arxiv.org
Cosmology and Astrophysics E-Print Archive

**************************

Astrophotography
by Robert Gendler

Astrophotography
by Bob Franke

Nomad

His back was ruined from digging post holes, a condition he'd grown accustomed to. And his hands were a mess. He had little experience working with barbed wire and they paid the price. He thought of this job as his last, his very last. Age and a painful weariness from having to deal with people had brought him to this place in his mind. He could tolerate certain folks for brief periods of time, but did not seek them out, disdained socializing. When the boss threw parties at the ranch, he never attended, always finding an excuse to go out on the range, to fix something needed fixing. He was quiet and left to himself by the rest of the crew. The younger ones made fun of him, sometimes to his face. He'd just snicker, shake his head and walk off. The older ones, closer to his age, would warn them: Don't poke a bear with a sharp stick. But, being young and full of themselves, they'd laugh it off.

It was getting towards evening, the light clouds filtering the waning daylight. He'd had enough, anyway. Saddling his horse he rode due west for the ranch and the comfort of his bunk. He barely had the strength to remove his boots, then fell quickly to sleep. The dinner bell would wake him. The rest of the men milled about, coming and going, ignoring his presence as they always did. His bunk was over in the far corner, away from the others. He hid a bottle of whiskey in his duffel under the bunk, but none had ever seen him drink. Nor had any ever seen him drunk. After dinner, he'd sit outside on the toprail of the corral smoking. That seemed to be his one pleasure in life.

He'd been working at the Circle 'M' Ranch for close to three months. As with all new arrivals, the others asked many probing questions, wanting to know just who they were sharing their lives with, and who might be a danger to them. He was vague about where he came from and what he'd been up to. Vague to the point of secretive. After awhile, the men gave up, believing, at least, he was no threat. Pretty much all they knew, and all they needed to know from his perspective, was his name. He called himself Nomad, the name given him long ago by a gypsy woman. He liked it so it stuck.

The day wore on in typical fashion. It was getting close to July 4th and the boss always held a big party. At dinner, the men talked of nothing else. They spoke of the fireworks and food and what musicians were coming, but mostly about the other ranch women, and especially those from town. The signs of fights over certain ones already brewed from the sound of their talk, and it would only get more intense as the day grew closer. Nomad ate in silence. Such conversation bored him, he'd heard it all before in a hundred towns, in hundreds of bars. The men could fight to the point of death, it mattered not, it was always up to the woman to decide in the end.

Afterwards he retired to his rail by the corral, studying the horses as they walked and occasionally galloped from one end to the other. A curiosity he never could fathom. Flies, maybe; or just the sudden urge to be let out to run, to be free on the high range where they came from. Breathing the cool crisp air off the ridge instead of down here in the dry dust working for meals.

Life had shifted gears some time in the distant past for him as well. In spite of himself, his mind would always fall into that hole, a roullette ball finding home. He sat and smoked and watched the horses -- and thought.

Xavier, the Mexican cook, climbed the rails and sat beside him. He was the only one Nomad bothered with. He played dumb, mostly because the crew expected him to, but Nomad could see he was far from it. Xavier hedged a question, "How goes it, amigo? You see anything in that crystal ball you're always gazing into?"

Nomad spat, then forced a smile, "Nah. It's the same story over and over. I keep looking for a break in the action, but there isn't one. It goes all the way through to the bottom, and stops dead."

"Maybe you should try sitting on another rail."

"Might work. But then, the horses wouldn't recognize me."

"Re-introduce yourself, change your name."

"You mean, start at the bottom and work up?"

Their conversations usually went this way. It seemed to make sense to them, but any of the others eavesdropping had no idea what they were talking about.

The next morning Nomad was scheduled to go into town with two of the younger ones, take the wagon and get supplies for the upcoming bash. The cargo would include whiskey, which would be held under lock and key by the foreman, a tough bastard of no nonsense disposition who knew firmly on which side his bread was buttered.

**********************

To Be Continued...

**********************

TIME ZONE

Lately their seems to be a convergence of minds -- physicists and philosophers -- centered around the question of the validity of the time concept. Things are coming to a head. This month's (June, 2010) issue of Scientific American has as its lead story: Does TIME Really Exist? by the University of California, San Diego philosophy professor, Craig Callender [funny, his name's Callender and he's writing about time]. Mathematician John D. Barrow writes in his book PI In The Sky "Spacetime is but a large-scale manifestation of some more fundamental entity." From what I've read, this seems to be the general consensus.

The essay contest of June, 2008 offered by FQXi on The Nature of Time drew a lot of attention from the world's TIME enthusiasts. The times they are a-changing, or that is to say, the notion of time is undergoing severe scrutiny. As Einstein examined our assumption about time's nature and overthrew its Newtonian hold on our psyches, a similar questioning is currently going on. There is no definite understanding as to the origin or essential characteristics of time. The rush to derive a comprehensive theory of gravity towards a hoped-for unified field theory to replace or supplement the Standard Theory has to stop to take a breath, back-up, so to speak, in order to first address this major conceptual hurdle. What exactly is time?

Almost forty years ago I was living in Santa Monica. One day I wondered into a used book store, my favorite places to explore. Way back in a far corner I came across a little yellow hardback book entitled Fingers Pointing Towards The Moon by Wei Wu Wei. I still have it. At the time, I was looking for something to grab onto, as a guide of sorts, some line or course that cut through the trappings of religion and western philosophy and got right to the heart of the matter. Having a scientific or mathematical bent, this book satisfied that search, at least as an anchor in what was then a very confused individual. In the spirit of the ongoing debate over the nature of time with respect to devising a theory of gravity or spacetime, I include a few excerpts from it below. I find that expousers of their beliefs as to time's reality often repeat or reformulate, in diffferent clothes, ideas that have been around for centuries or are paraphrases of others, parallel constructs. String theorists, loop quantum gravity supporters and those involved in developing what's called, Causal Dynamical Triangulation (CDT) [my choice] have been grappling unsuccessfully, it seems, to come up with a suitable definition for time as a fundamental footing in their theoretical constructions.

It's not enough to say that time doesn't exist or that it's not fundamental, for where does that leave us? Those are negativities, what we need to hear is a positive description: what is it? And how does it differ from previous concepts? Most people who bother to think about it understand Einstein's notion of time as expressed in his Special Theory. Time in quantum mechanics is less clear, at least to me. In any event, they don't gibe, and in order for them to come together somehow, this TIME idea needs to be straightened out.

Research in science has moved on and left the basic assumptions on which it's based lagging behind. A reassessment is in order. It's like the Tower of Babel, scientists and philosophers debate conjectures and speculations as to the nature of the universe and reality, imagining as they do that a certain understanding of time is shared. I believe there is a notion of time to be found that underlies these two, a deeper notion possibly dredged up from the past and refashioned according to the present scientific and philosophic contexts, or else something brand new, created out of thin air, a firm, solid, clear understanding all can agree on.

To state that it is an emergent phenomenon doesn't satisfy for the reason that it's simply too general and vague. Emerging from what and where? I read a lot of this kind of stuff and get glossy-eyed trying to see beneath the surface of their generalities. It's as though someone gave you directions in a big city to "go north a ways and then turn east." Well, wait a second. I want to know just what streets I'm to go down, what landmarks to look for, and how long will it take me. You know -- specifics, something concrete. EMERGE is a wonderful concept and I understand its meaning regarding phenomena -- a collection of parts on an elemental level that have an affinity for each other -- self-organizing, perhaps -- emerges into a separate interrelated and irreducible complexity, a whole on a higher level the global properties of which cannot be deduced by studying the parts, and so forth. But, if time is emergent, how does it emerge? Is it a process? A field of force? We conceive it as a dimension of space with characteristics all its own. But what does that mean? What is it?

Kant tells us that, "We create Time ourselves, as a function of our receptive apparatus." I used to imagine I knew what that meant exactly, but not anymore. It doesn't tell me what it IS but only that it's produced by filtering -- prism-like -- through my brain, my receptive apparatus.

In Fingers Pointing Towards The Moon Wei states, or reiterates: "A phenomenon is something that occurs in three-dimensional space interpreted with the fourth dimension seen serailly as time. Reality (noumenon) is motionless, ubiquitous, and permanent." And elsewhere: "Our concept of Time, but not our percept, as of something in flux, is probably mistaken. Differentiation may be a property of the Time-dimension as experienced by us. The fourth-dimension, when seen by us serailly as time (as opposed to its total aspect which is eternity) produces the illusion of phenomena."

With regard to Motion (intimately connected to time) he writes: "The dynamism we know as Life and Consciousness thereof are and remain four-dimensional. Science is built on the arbitray assumption that the universe exists in Time and Space. There is no BECOMING. ALL IS. The illusion of motion is due to our inability to see every thing at once, to the fact that we see one thing after another. The motion is in our psyche. Rhythms, undulations are perhaps the curvature of Time. Time is the measure of Motion. Three-dimensionality is a function of our senses. Time is the boundary of our senses."

With regard to space, he writes: "Our psyche exists in the fourth-dimension. What we see of one another are three-dimensional segments of a four-dimensional totality. The next dimension is Eternity (in its time-aspect) and Infinity (in its space-aspect) in which everything exists immutably or is infinite variation at one point." [Does that last sound a little like the idea of superposition?] "This is the fifth dimension or the second dimension of time, but Ouspensky states that each higher dimension is infinity for the dimension immediately below it. The sixth dimension is that in which every possibility exists."

And with respect to Eternity and Passing Time he says: "Duration (or Eternity) is the necessary point of Immobility from which Passing-time is seen as such. We could not be aware of Passing-time if an element of us were not situated in Duration.

"Light would seem to be using a dimension at right-angles to those of the observer." [Michelson-Morley]. "The fact that light is found to be two separate and incompatible things -- an undualtion and photons -- might mean that its four-dimensional form is undulatory whereas it manifests tridimensionally as a shower of particles."

Ultimately, however, Fingers Pointing Towards The Moon is about the nature of self. And here's where we enter the jungle of clinging vines and treacherous undergrowth. It seems to me that in order to come to a clear understanding, or at least a solid intuition, of the notion of TIME, we have to simultaneously reexamine other concepts and their meanings of things intricately associated with it.

As Callender writes at the end of his article, quoting the French philosopher Maurice Merleau-Ponty: "... time itself does not really flow and its apparent flow is a product of our 'surreptitiously putting into the river a witness of its course.' That is, the tendency to believe time flows is a result of forgetting to put ourselves and our connections to the world into the picture. Merleau-Ponty was speaking of our subjective experience of time, and until recently no one ever guessed that objective time might itself be explained as a result of those connections. Time may exist only by breaking the world into subsystems and looking at what ties them together. In this picture, physical time emerges by virtue of our thinking ourselves as separate from everything else."

Both in special relativity and quantum mechanics we've accepted the role and importance of the observer, but only as perceiver and measurer. Observer in the biological sense, not as a separate self experiencing the world and thereby humanizing the universe. Time and self are connected, interdependent, inextricably entwined, and may have a mutual origin, working in tandem to create the world we see around us. Scientists shy away from the idea of the psyche, relegating it to the domains of psycholgy, cognitive science, theology and philosophy. You can't put your finger on it, it's elusive and difficult to grasp. Carl Jung has probably done the best work on its description, nature and purpose, how it functions and its source. But, it may prove essential to recast both concepts with an eye towards discovering where they come together at root, their unifying field on some level or dimension much the same as electricity and magnetism were joined at the hip.

In an undifferentiated universe, there is no separate selfhood. Does the act of differentiation -- perception and consciousness -- create both Time and Self as manifestations of some deeper reality? I believe so, but, how do we disentangle ourselves? At the moment of perception and understanding, we necessarily distance our minds from that which we perceive, thereby artificially creating a sense of self and other. How do we get around that?

We evolve: From SELF to self to SELF/self.

Adrian Dorn

*************

Tesselation

************

Three teams of astronomers poured over sections of a picture of the deepest view into the universe ever seen, taken by the Hubble Space Telescope over what amounted to four days of exposure on a single location -- a point, actually -- far off in the distance. Six scientists to a team, half sitting, the rest standing or pacing in front of a long pop-up table, covered with papers, spectrographic analyses, small pictures, pencils, rulers, hand-held calculators, styrofoam coffee cups, bottled water, and one ashtray. Jackets draped over backs of chairs, each team's excitement and astonishment was palpable in the close-knit setting. Above the table were two rows -- one stacked on the other -- of three 27-inch monitors showing different regions of the overall exposure at varying magnifications.

I only just arrived, my plane had an engine go out coming into Baltimore. After convivialities with the administrative team -- some small talk, dinner invitations -- I was assigned to Doctor Zeingelder's work-group in theatre "C". I had never worked with him before but was looking forward to the meeting. He greeted me as a colleague, warm and personable, enjoying himself too much to be concerned about unintended tardiness -- Nobel Laureates can be testy at times.

Introductions to the rest of the team were postponed; the atmosphere verged on a shark frenzy. I took my post at the back, slowly walking the length of the monitors, taking it all in. When I found a particular orientation, a certain angle of perspective, I stopped, focused without strain, then let it happen.

************************

CONTINUED...

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Global Digest has a biosphere section.

IPCC
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change

World Wildlife Fund
Wildlife Conservation -- Species Conservation

International Rivers Network
Linking Human Rights and Environmental Protection

Living on Earth
Sound Journalism for the Whole Planet

Public Library of Science
"PLoS is a nonprofit organization of scientists and physicians
committed to making the world's scientific and medical literature
a freely available public resource."

Open Questions
"A place for everyone to explore on the frontiers of science."

Living Reviews
"Living Reviews are scientific open access journals, publishing review articles
that provide insightful surveys on research progress in the fields they cover,
and guiding readers to the most important literature in the field."

Ecosystem -- Encyclopedia of Earth

Living Things: Habitats & Ecosystems

Ecosystems of our World

Internet Resources: Complements of Berkeley

Science Daily
News & Articles in Science, Health, Environment, and Technology

The Changing World
[A weekly series of documentaries]
A special collaboration between the BBC World Service,
Public Radio International and PRI's The World.

LiveScience: Science, Technology, Health & Environmental News

BBC -- Science & Nature

*************

*************

Recent Publication of Discovery in Desert of Peru
[July 1, 2010]

The Missing Link Found

UPDATE: 03/10/10

Ida

The Virtual Fossil Museum

Everything Fossils... Fossil Information for Education, Collection and Fun

Dawn of Animal Life
Miller Museum of Geology
-- Queen's University, Kingston, Ontario, Canada --

Geologic Timeline Chart [really cool]
Paleobiology with Evolutionary Milestones
Paleobiology: Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History
The Field Museum of Natural History: Evolving Planet

Karen Carr Studio
International Wildlife and Natural History Artist

John Sibbick Illustration
Prehistoric | Natural History | Fantasy

The Dinosaur Art Gallery
of Joe Tucciarone

Luis V. Rey's Art Gallery
Dinosaurs and Paleontology

Census of Marine Life Portal

Can carry 850 times its own weight.

NOVA| The Incredible Journey of the Butterflies

Watch The Program

The Adventures of Jethro, the Frog

[The following story is fictional and does not depict any actual frog or event.]

Once upon a time, a frog named Jethro lived on the fringe of a pond partway up the side of a mountain. It wasn't a very deep pond, but it was wide and fed by a tall waterfall of cold clear mountain run-off. Surrounded by miles of forest, Jethro lived a peaceful, quiet life devoid of humans. He liked to curl up in the mud under the pond on hot summer days, then at nightfall, come out onto the bank and croak for hours with all the other frogs in the neighborhood. It was a wonderful, happy time. In the fall when the leaves fell and the cool wind blew, he stayed near the water's edge, anticipating the big freeze. When winter finally arrived -- always too soon for him -- the pond iced over several feet. He'd bury himself as far beneath the muddy bottom as he could squirm, where he felt safe and content, his body slowed way down to almost death, waiting for time to go by. He'd wait and sleep and dream.

One dream he had almost woke him it felt so real. It was a beautiful summer day, he'd been hopping about investigating, exploring, looking for treasure, when he heard a violent commotion nearby, brush rattling and strange muffled sounds. Spotting a hole gouged into the base of a large oak, he scurried in, dragging twigs across its opening to conceal himself. The crash of struggling grew closer, he held his breath and closed his eyes. He knew closing his eyes wouldn't help, but he didn't want to turn to face the back of the hole either. In fact, now that he was dug in, covered with old moldy leaves and twigs from last fall, he'd rather not move at all. Besides, whatever was making the horrible noise would soon be upon him and he needed to be ready to jump if necessary. But only if absolutely imperative. He was nobody's hero and didn't wish to be. He had no desire to impress anyone, leave that to the bullfrogs.

A mad flapping of wings and rush of air stirred his cover, mixed in with a shrill strained screeching and tight throaty sounds, deeper in tone. Two creatures of indeterminate type fought a life and death battle within inches of his hideaway. Jethro clamped his eyes shut tighter, if possible. Suddenly, he heard rapid footfalls and then more fluttering going away. Momentarily, all was silent. Still, he didn't move or open his eyes. He waited, they might come back, he thought. He started to stiffen-up, the beginnings of a cramp in his right leg. He listened intently. All he heard was the gentle rush of a breeze blowing by. Opening one eye, he peered through a narrow space in his covering. Nothing. Then the other eye. He had to move, to stretch. With a burst of will power, he pushed his way out, studying the terrain of trees and brush, straining to see into the high grass.

**********************

CONTINUED.....

**********************

MONSTER

He sat stolidly in the one chair allotted. The room was dark and smelled faintly of pine oil and old curtains. He'd put it off long enough; the moment was nigh.

The image formed in his mind, tentatively, delicate as gossamer, then slowly coalesced, its contours sharpening, turning vivid and pronounced. Still, at first, as though fearful, its five eyes dared to glance about at the space of its making, furtively, amazed and curious. Breath expanded its massive thorax. Exhaling smoothly as though tasting, its frame shrank back to a gnarled carapace, black as coal. Surrounded by shards of fluctuating photons, it breathed in again, taking the illumination with it. With that, the image faded into shadow, dimly sparkled like a distant nebula, then shone brighter than before, stronger. Its circular mouth opened showing jagged serrated teeth. Its eyes glared with malevolence. Confidence building but nonetheless newborn and unsure, it moved, cautiously, flexing its jointed scale-encrusted tentacles, each ending in a razor sharp pincer. Opening its mouth, it ambled forward, though direction had no meaning in this universe of pure thought.

The man held firm to his emotions, determination to carry through uppermost in his mind. Previously, when experiencing this apparition he'd been afraid. Fear overwhelmed him and the image quickly dissolved into black emptiness. But not this time. He had resolved to bring it forth into reality as he'd been taught when a child on Baraxus, his home world, now far away in time and space. He'd been instructed by the elders and knew of his power. However, after coming here to planet Earth, taking on human form, he'd been influenced by its people and made uncertain. But not anymore. He knew what he must do; they had given him this mission; and he would not fail. The creature he was about to bring into the world was only the beginning. An entire legion of the same and others far more terrible would he create. Now was the time of completion.

Creatures of thought, they were nonetheless able to constitute physically at will, a 3-D halogram projection of a network of engrams. They could therefore move through all force fields as though they simply did not exist, while yet maintaining their original shape, altering mass piecemeal throughout their bodies as needed. They could not be harmed except by counter-thought, a force of nature the humans had not yet discovered. Essentially, they were invincible. They came from the depths of the psyche of those who dwelt therein. A failsafe did exist however, lest they might at some time turn on their creators. A backdoor, so to speak, which not everyone knew.

He closed his eyes to focus all his energies. The end of humanity would commence in this pitch black room at the edge of a small town whose name he could never remember. It didn't matter. Soon, his kind would arrive in their countless ships and the dominant species on this planet would be gone, a new home to replace the devastation of his own. He had but to say the words, the incantation, and the abomination would project from his mind into the room. Small though it be, it was still sufficient to contain it.

As he was about to utter the final pronouncement, there was a knock on the door.

*************

CONTINUED...

*************

ECONOMICS

When it comes to the recent collapse of the financial market -- what with bailing out AIG, Goldman Sachs and others -- and current repercussions, I confess to being at a loss to understand the particulars. And I don't believe we're getting the straight skinnies from Congress. [When in fact do we?] They pick and choose facts -- true or questionably so -- and ignore others or misstate them [or just plain lie] in order to put forth their respective agendas. Regulation is obviously necessary but the Republicans insist that's not the case. Let the market regulate itself, they say. Well, we've all seen where that led to. If you're in the same boat as I, or one nearby, check this out. It may be helpful.

If they're not going to oversee the financial sector, then we at least need to have a clue as to what the hell they're talking about.

*************

*************

MANIFOLD

This came to me in a dream: I saw space fractured into a million pieces. Not just any random shards laying on the ground like a crystal wine glass, but ordered.

The idea of a simplex is easy to visualize. They're dimensional. A 2-simplex can be thought of as a closed triangle -- a disc essentially -- with three vertices and three line segments -- or edges -- acting as its boundaries connecting these vertices. But, topologically, it can take any cell-shape, a cell being a generalization of a simplex. Each cell is homeomorphic -- maps invariants to invariants -- to a Euclidean space. In that sense, they resemble a manifold. Now, the term manifold is oftentimes generalized to mean any flat surface, but its significance lies in the fact that compared to a polyhedron, it is all of one piece. It has no sub-partitions joined together as does a polyhedron. In that manner, each manifold corresponds to a local flat euclidean space.

So we have simplex equals cell equals manifold. By the use of barycentric coordinates we can further sub-divide the cell into simple quotient spaces to create a polyhedron of space. With each factoring we create a composition series, further refining the cell's detail. The cell, it may be pointed out, is susceptible to continuous deformations. In the process its interior morphology rearranges its play of symmetries in a dynamic and self-organizing manner. And as the interior of a cell is sensivitve to its boundary shape, it is said to be shape-aware, analogous in regulatory capacity or methodology to the morphogenetic field of a biological cell. An important point that shouldn't be underestimated concerns the orientation -- spin -- imposed on a simplex, infusing it with a causal asymmetric tendency effecting ripples and contours. This feature eliminates random inconsistencies.

A change of basis takes place; we zoom in. Barycentric coordinates expand the vertices onto a larger scale, adding degrees of freedom, revealing underlying dimensions. As the space grows in complexity, each vertex, boundary and interior point transforms into a linear combination -- weighted by the barycentric coordinates acting as coefficients -- of the newly defined vertices. Essentially, the original coordinate system is relabeled. Also, any number of lines can be drawn through the interior of our cell, intersecting an edge at a point. For instance, for the triangle or 2-D simplex, a line can be drawn from each vertex to a point on its opposite side (edge), this point is then written in terms of the basis of three weighted vectors -- our barycentric-ized vertices:

point = a₁v₁ + a₂v₂ + a₃v₃.

For example, an electron can correspond to a factored network of quotient spaces in a fluctuating state, stuck in a loop due to the particular configuration, compressed into a bounded condition. Increasing and decreasing refinement within a certain range corresponds to its everchanging position and momentum. As the space of that cell increases in detail due to fluctuating factoring, a photon is absorbed. As it decreases, a photon is expelled. This represents a probability distribution as a result of, or corresponding to, the quantum partitioning. The electron can be localized by the barycentroid (or multiple barycentroids) of the cell, insensitive to noise and deformations.

Looking at our cell-complex from another perspective, continually varying spatial vortices collectively forming an ever-shifting strange attractor, an emergent phenomenon, manifests in the macro-world as spacetime, the fabric of it, to use a hackneyed mataphor. Piecewise, a strange attractor renders the overall appearance of the cell as it goes through its fluctuations, fractalizing space. A collection of these cells (simplex, node), interfacing at their boundaries (face, surface), on any required dimension, induces neighboring individual -- quantum level -- cells to arrange their interior structures in sympatico, either by means of extensions of partitioning lines from the source point crossing respective boundaries, or through resonation of sub-vortical frequencies.

Think of a cone made from a sheet of paper as you twist its pointed-end tighter and tighter. That is the space, or the simplicial complex, of gravity, barycentric coordinates standing for centers of mass [barycenter means center of mass or gravity]. Space, taffy-like, creates the surface appearance of curvature due to its contraction and stretching, to its folding and squeezing. The underlying cause may be attributed to the increasing refinement -- or factoring -- of the sections of simple quotient spaces -- factor groups of denser symmetry -- spontaneously generating, and nested in a hierarchy of sub-domains. Three-dimensionally, we can think of a tetrahedron as homeomorphic to a solid ball, an image that seems to be more agreeable for its natural symbol of centering.

Onion-skin slices superimposed on one another, interconnected and interrelating, subject to positive amplification and negative feedback constraints. Layers of spacetime embedded within each other -- concentric spheres -- yet separable along an imaginary axis. Viscosity thickening towards the bottom or center, bubbling up new micro-states from nano-moment to nano-moment, evolving fresh pseudo-stable surfaces through some kind of force convection.

Simple refers to non-divisibility. Each factor group -- each sub-domain of compacted space -- is a whole unto itself, locked in a preferred arrangement or quantized set of arrangements. The mesh size of any specific simplex net varies relatively, but must be no greater than a suitable Planck designation or limit based on the compact nature of the associated Lie group in Hilbert Space. An appropriate distance-metric can be imposed from without but understood only as an artifact for purposes of calculation. Being topological, the underlying field has no inherent metric; in a topological space distance has no meaning. Objects exist in and of themselves without reference to any background coordinate system.

Furthermore, thinking of space as a fluid medium allows us to forgo the associated notions of rigidity and flatness of space inherent in our concept of manifold. It bends and twists and can reform into any conceivable topologically valid shape. Time and motion are thus seen as effects of this constant partitioning. Particles as constricted loops, trapped in a web of symmetrically bound energy. Forces as changes in the loop structure due to fluctuation of the spatial components -- the factors.

It's the energy of the Void itself that intiates this creative endeavor.

As John D. Barrow writes: "Space and time can be born and thus can die."

Adrian Dorn

* Something I read recently on LQG -- here

He felt like a fraud and a coward. Biting his tongue for the sake of,..., what? Until it all came crashing down like the card house it was. He wanted to die. Didn't care how, not really. Painlessly would be nice, but, as long as it was quick, he didn't care. When asked how things were going, he'd always reply -- fine. Fine. Right. He wanted to tell the truth; he wanted to say he felt like hell, that life meant nothing, less than nothing. Where he got the energy to go on, he had no idea. Thoughts of suicide were his constant companion, but something always held him back; he figured it was her. It certainly wasn't fear of the unknown; of that, at least, he was certain.

Live and let live had been his motto. But for years he'd worked hard to suppress his anger, to keep it under wraps, his protests against being treated with contempt and disrespect by people pretending to be his friends, to have his interests at heart. He put up with it; believed he needed their good will, for one reason or another. He wanted to get along. To maintain the status quo. To maintain a level of existence that proved satisfactory. His friends weren't all that bad, they'd help out when needed, but he noticed it was always on their terms.

Apparently, they presumed he hadn't the capacity or the heart to do otherwise than accept this treatment. Or perhaps they were just oblivious themselves, most people are. But he knew why he bit his tongue and allowed it to go on. For his love and their life together. For their home and the happiness they knew. He wanted to get along with everyone; be accepting and show the world his friendly side. When he was with her -- just the two of them -- he could be his true self, with all his foibles and gentleness and idosyncrasies, openly and easily. That was the beauty of their relationship, their friendship.

But when she died, the walls came tumbling down. Everything changed. He no longer had any reason to hold back. None. And in his grief, he found he hated those people, those friends. In fact, he fantacised about killing them for belittling his relationship in that macho demeaning way some men have. Off-hand things they'd say. He-men, he'd grumble to himself and shake his head dismissively; punks and childish bastards.

It was strangely liberating -- this deep-rooted anger. The irony didn't go unnoticed. And this anger turned towards him. After all, he set the stage. Mollifying, placating, allowing shit to go on that chipped away at his character, indirectly affecting his relationship, not only with her but with the world at large. He held back; it was how he'd become. He knew full well his abilities; he knew he could do something about his living situation, improve on it. But the goddamn status quo, maintain the staus quo. He felt guilty whenever he went against it, like he was blowing what he had, jeopardizing everything important. Now, it was too late and he no longer cared to maintain anything.

He felt a strength he used to know when young and it was religion to stand up for himself, for what was right, when nothing else mattered. It felt rough and strained at first, like muscles gone unused for far too long a time. Where did that go? he wondered, over and over. Trying to feel it again in his bones; followed by musings of if only. He felt vulnerable, untrusting of his instincts. But, vulnerability and self-doubt were what got him into this hell in the first place, so he brushed it aside with contempt for himself, for his weakness and excessive caution, for what he saw as his cowardice.

He'd drawn a cage around his freedom, a web that went around and through him, nullifying channels not prescribed. He'd forgotten, somewhere along the line, to take those paths. He'd forgotten that they led to control of one's life. Now, the cage had dissolved into the imaginary space it always was.

He became obsessive about his home, their home, kept it in order, thumbtacked Christmas and birthday cards to the walls, would stare around carefully studying the details, stilling the moment, taking everything in. If he could only concentrate hard enough in just the right way, she would appear. He looked at every little thing as though for the first time, examining momentoes with a reverance he rarely felt before. Reaching for her. For that person the two of them were together. That feeling of life. Wanting to feel that sense of home again, yet it faded into the background, just out of reach, elusive, like a shadow or a distant sound he could barely hear. Trying to remember how it'd been when she was there. Where she preferred to sit, how she sat,..., and stood and moved.

He refused to let go, had no idea what that meant. It hadn't been just her and him, it was them, what they had, their relationship and the life they were living. And now that was gone; there was no them. He thought about her every day, could sit in the backyard for hours without moving, thinking about her, talking to her as though she were there, her chair still next to his. He lived alone; it made it easier and yet harder at the same time. What was worse, what he couldn't get passed and probably never would, was that he was convinced it was his fault. He searched his mind trying to find others to blame, but it was no use. He knew, was sure, without doubt -- it was his fault she was dead. It was as though he'd killed her, plain and simple.

He drank almost every day. When he'd get drunk he'd rant, loudly, angrily, to his woods; railing at God in whom he no longer had any faith. To hell with you, God, he would yell. And much worse. His nearest neighbor was a good mile away, not that he gave a damn. He drank and cried and thought of suicide.

And how empty and quiet the woods were. The silence struck him, appalled his soul, threatened to rend him apart from within in a violent explosion, a supernova. Not the quiet of simply being alone, he'd been alone before when she was gone on errands in town or visiting friends. It was a strange sad quiet, like a children's playground with no children in it. It went right to the bone.

A few drunken crazy nights he ran around calling her name, looking for her, close to hysteria with anguish and loss. His sadness drenched him and stole his heart away. He refused to accept it, and blamed himself, over and over again -- she was dead because of what he'd become.

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CONTINUED.....

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"Center Stage" The Meta-Library

Only a few subjects are represented here. Where possible I have tried to locate sources exploring current ideas advanced by individuals and small groups as well as major research outfits. So in that respect each of the subject pages is not just a listing of relevant links -- an index -- but also attempts to present both foundation materials and peaks of inquiry and discovery for each field.

The Anatomy of a Differential Equation

Any equation of the form:

(1) f (x,y,z,c) = 0 [the equation of a surface],

(2) P dx + Q dy + R dz = 0,

For from (1) we have

(3) ∂f/∂x dx + ∂f/∂y dy + ∂f/∂z dz = 0,

Geometrically we may say that the coefficients P, Q, R determine a vector

(4) P i + Q j + R k.

(5) dx i + dy j + dz k.

CONTINUED...

*************

The Phillips Collection
[History and 'Who's Who' in the painting.]

Richard Thompson Gallery
A Modern American Impressionist

Shorts, Episodes, and other nonsense...

Upon further inspection, you isolate and localize subgroupings and individuals within the clusters that alternate out of sync. Deeper perception, using the aforementioned genetically altered ability, reveals even more complex subdivision associations: the timing appears haphazard and chaotic only on the surface; each firefly varies the radiation duration of its biochemical energy; and each partakes of an uncountable number of configurations, but not all configurations.

Moreover, due to your enhanced powers of discernment, breadth of vision, and cranial capacity surpassing that of the most sophisticated supercomputer presently on the drawing boards, you process, nanosecond to nanosecond, the intermittent patterns of light and dark spasmodically radiating from the field below, not missing a single creature, cataloguing similar patterns into classes as you go.

CONTINUED...

Infinity

Georg Cantor: Transfinite Numbers -- Exponentially increasing levels of infinities.

The Rational Numbers (Rationals) are of the first order of infinity. They are called countable because the set of all Rationals has the same number of elements (cardinality) as the set of integers, or even just the positive integers -- the Natural or Counting Numbers. That is, the Rationals can be put into one-to-one correspondence with the counting numbers.

The Irrational Numbers (Irrationals) are of the second order. They are uncountable and in some way denser that the Rationals.

The Real Numbers (Reals) are composed of the Rationals and the Irrationals and are therefore uncountable as well.

The Reals represent an uncountable continuum.

*********************

But is that necessary?

*************

*************

You have to understand what I'm about to tell you is strictly between you and me. You must promise. I have to tell someone before I bust or get killed too. I'll start at the beginning.

A year ago last week a friend of mine, who made a living carting trash and used appliances to the dump, asked me to help him. He'd been offered a big job through his e-mail for more money than he ordinarily made in a month. We drove his flatbed thirty miles or so down a dirt road off the highway. It was pot-holed and rutted so I had misgivings about the project from the get-go; his truck is old and weary so I held my breath over every crash and bang waiting for it to break a leg and die right there in the middle of the desert. But miraculously we made it to a large concrete building surrounded by a few smaller one with tin roofs. The main building was worn and covered with cracks from erosion. No one was there. He'd been sent a key and told to remove any and all stuff from a back storage room. No questions asked and no explanations given. Chris didn't protest.

We entered the musty place that smelled of rat feces and years of dust. Wild grass from the desert grew right out of the concrete floor, cracked in several places. Ragged tarps covered an unknown number of what turned out to be wooden crates and boxes, all locked. After the long arduous ride, we drank some coffee and walked around, estimating how many trips we'd have to make. He was getting paid for the gas so he didn't care. We figured it would take a few days, at least. Daylight was burning, as they say, so we started right in. We left town early expecting to make three trips that day. We loaded the truck in short order; the boxes were heavy but we had a hand truck and two planks we leaned on the edge of the bed. The dump was between town and the jobsite so we were back from our first trip and nearly loaded again by noon. Tired, we decided to break for lunch.

Sandwiches in hand, we went exploring about the site. All the out-buildings were locked. We tried to peer through the windows but they were so dirty it was impossible to see anything inside. We went back to the storage room and behind some crates found a door leading to the rest of the building. The knob wouldn't turn; it too was locked. We looked at one another in that way two old friends do who've done some shady things in their lives together and decided, what the hell, let's break in and check it out; we could fix it later so no one would know. That was a mistake, as it turned out.

************************

Number Theory: Diophantine Equations

If anyone wants a copy of this, you can find it here.

**************

*****************************

To see a World in a Gram of Pot,
And a Heaven in a Glass of Wine,
Hold Infinity in a forget-me-not,
And Eternity will be Thine.

From: Orgies of Nonsense
by Flange "The Hook" Lafeet

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BLACKBOARD Continued...

*****************************

Mother

"Tom? Tom. You know it's best. Why don't you take one of the white pills tonight. Go to the pill dispensary in the hall. I'll be there waiting."

Tom hesitated, anger building, anger and frustration and a little fear, that coppery taste in the back of the throat kind of fear. It'd sounded like such a great idea, at first. The "Living Home" concept had proven itself in government and corporate work environments. The integrated system, based on a combination of artificial intelligence and bioelectrical networks, came highly recommended by the International Science Federation and Maggy McCormick, a colleague at the "barn." That's what he called the Molecular Computing facility of Androgen, the largest producer of robotic help and service aids in the entire Western Region. The mainframe insinuated itself, like ivy on a brick wall, into whatever structure it was placed -- an office building, a school, a house, whatever -- comprised of an unseen neural network, wirelessly connecting to its many robotic assistants.

She said she didn't know how she'd ever gotten along without it, or words to that effect. She was now able to accomplish so much more than ever possible before. She'd come to believe her bohemian lifestyle had detracted from her professional career, holding her back from actualizing her potential -- that's how she talks -- and so she needed the discipline afforded by "Mother." That's what she calls her machine -- Mother. And, at first, she seemed satisfied with the arrangement.

However, Tom had begun to notice cracks around the edges of her usually warm and free-spirited aura; she bore strain not well, it showed in her every movement. And her voice cracked occasionally, like a child's. He was beginning to understand the source.

"Tom. I'm waiting, Tom. It's late. Time for you to go to bed. I've already set the alarm clock. Breakfast will be ready at the usual time. I've designed the perfect meal for your present caloric profile and needs. Tom? I'm still waiting at the pill dispensary in the hall. Tom?" He could almost hear a foot come down hard.

Tom stood by the front door, rebelious yet uncertain, clenching his teeth, feeling helpless. But he lost the battle. His blood drained to his feet; with a shrug, he went to the dispensary. Waiting there was a tiny white pill and a glass of purified water on a thin black plastic slate. Hands in pockets, he stared at them under the muted, oval-shaped table lamp. It was no use, he knew; he swallowed the pill with the water, then ambled like a child to his bedroom two doors down. The lighting was subdued, soft; temperature and humidity at just the right levels. Of course, he thought, what else?

He laid on top of the thin microthermal covering and stretched out, holding his head in both hands, trying not to feel the effects of the drug. Once he'd tried to fool the machine by placing the pill in his pocket; but it knew, it always knew; from sensors located all through the house it could read his biochemical profile constantly, gauge his mood and, he believed, probe his secret desires. It knew, and would not let him rest until he complied.

"Tom? Tom. You still have your clothes and shoes on, Tom. Take them off now and slip into that caftan I laid out for you. Tom?"

He lost his futile fight with the tiny white pill; it was easier to give in this time; each time it seemed easier. He sat up, rotated to the right, let his legs drop to the floor, bent at the waist, untied his shoes, removed them and his socks, stood up, undid his belt, let his pants drop to the floor, removed his shirt, tossed it into the chair nearby, grabbed the caftan, let it drop down over his body, turned, bent, lifted the covering, crawled in, slid to the middle, pulled the cover up around his throat and held its edge in both hands.

"Good night, my dear. Don't worry about the mess. Mommy will get it for you. Sweet dreams."

--- 30 ---

Professor Glipter peered skyward at the stars, a clear night in the Rockies, shooters streaked across from every direction. Glass of wine in hand, staring off in the same direction, his friend waited for her answer. Finally, he said softly, "I believe that if the other six spatial dimensions -- purported -- had expanded when the three we know plus time did, there would be no quantum superposition, and hence the universe would be in a single or singular state. No spontaneous symmetry breaking, no transmutation, no fusion into anything heavier than hydrogen, no beta decay, no shifting of electron energy levels, no orbits, no black holes."

He paused to take a sip of wine to ward off the slight chill. "There would be no life or planets on which it might come into being and thrive. There would be no forces to act on anything. There would be no quantum fluctuations, no energy, no suns."

He looked down at the grass, illuminated by the silver starlight, sadness creasing his weathered features. "All we'd have is a vast, inert sea of free floating hydrogen atoms, the quarks of the proton locked in a fixed net, the electron bobbing along at the end of a string, not held by attraction, yet not able to drift off either -- all would be continuum -- there would be no quantum reality. A dead universe."

He turned to her, a broad smile stretching from ear to ear. "So, apparently, compacted balls of energy dimensions are required. Does that answer your question, my love?"

She breathed deeply the crisp, sweet smelling air, then replied, "Do the people at the Institute know you're out on your own?"

*************

Elementary Abstract Algebra can rightfully be said to culminate in a detailed study of Galois Theory and Finite Fields. The ideas and concepts necessary to support that material are introduced and developed in a systematic way leading to it. But then, G.T. and F.F. act as jumping off points, overlapping and dovetailing, for the study of Linear Algebra -- Vector Spaces and Transformations -- with an application to a different view of Quantum Mechanics.

The crucial application of the theory of vector spaces is the mapping of one coordinate system onto another. That is, identifying one set of bases vectors with another through a linear transformation -- a reorientation -- when the ranks are equal, and when they are not, collapsing a set onto a subset, consequently generating a factor or quotient space.

Another important mechanism with regard to quantum orthogonality is that of Inner Product *multiplication* with regard to the study of Inner Spaces [in particular: inner automorphisms].

Essentially we need to connect the ideas of bases vectors and zeros of a polynomial.

For example: The zeros of xⁿ - a are pecisely the set of bases vectors for a. The elemental unit vectors are the n^th roots of unity. So, the bases vectors are: {a, ae¹, ae²,....., ae^n-1}.

Associated ideas: Symmetry Groups -- Zeros of polynomials [including the characteristic polynomials of differential equations] -- roots of unity -- bases vectors -- eigenvalues -- dimensionality of space -- eigenstate solutions of quantum wavefunction -- singular frequency -- surface -- family of curves equaling a constant.

"All in good time, ladies and gentlemen, please. All in good time. First, Doctor Golgachev, our paleohistorian, has some interesting facts concerning the larger picture. I would like to introduce him at this time."

An imposing man with bushy eyebrows and a stern face, his voice was nonetheless disarmingly cordial and engaging. His large hands resting on either side of the podium, he casually scanned the roomful of reporters. Then, he began: "I would first like to thank Doctor Tolstoy for his leadership during this time. For, what we have discovered thus far has been, ..., deeply disturbing and profound." He turned to nod towards Doctor Tolstoy, who nodded back. We were waiting; but not for long, he started right in.

"My name is Alexi Golgachev; I am a paleohistorian -- the history of old Earth. Doctor Tolstoy has requested that I present a brief overview of background material relating to Earth events leading up to and immediately following -- geologically speaking -- when the alien structure evidently either first or last made contact where it now rests. Major geologic and biologic transformations occurred during this time period. A whole new order of biology emerged simultaneously all over the world. One threshold after another was crossed as evolution shifted gears, as life discovered original ways to express itself, ways that were previously unknown. No one just considering organic life prior to 600 million years ago, the time the alien craft is determined to have landed, would or could conjecture the direction life would take afterwards.

"My lecture will be brief, so please bear with me."

****************

CONTINUED...

****************

Excerpt I From The Superposed Self

Excerpt II From The Surrealistic Confluence

*************

Megan put her drink down hard on the glass-topped coffee table. Nobody moved in the hot stuffy parlor. Through the sliding screen door, the fading light outlined the mountains far to the southwest, dark clouds menacing their jagged ridges and peaks like a pack of hungry hyenas ready to pounce. She wanted desperately to go out onto the veranda, but the mosquitoes were thick and fierce, thirsty for blood. This whole damn country seemed like that, she thought. What the hell are we doing here?

Her husband, Sir Nigel Rothbank, hated it too. He missed the well-appointed leather chairs, the thick oriental rugs and tapestries, and most of all, the cigar-smelling opulence of his gentlemen's club. But, his family owned vast estates of tobacco, sugar cane and khat. It was his turn. Uncle Andy was in America, on business, he'd said. Aunt Vicky -- how she hated that diminutive -- insisted on traveling through China one last time before death took her. Her expression. So dramatic, so theatrical, the whole family was rather like that. It was his turn then, he felt obligated, he needed to be here, in spite of the gout, the voracious insects, the horrid company, and his wife's illness, at least that's how he thought of it, her condition, that is.

The overhead fan beat cadence to the somber presence of her guests. Why they were in such a black mood was a mystery, to be sure, thought Megan. They, at least, have an indoor pool and an air conditioner that works. Theirs was broken, that is to say, it stopped working all of a sudden one abysmally hot, sticky day last week and, that was that. What a country. The only air-conditioner repairman in the entire region, it seems, was in prison. He had attempted a coup, of all things, and failed, miserably. Of course, he failed, he's an air-conditioner repairman, for Christ's sake! No sense of responsibility or consideration, these people. He must've been aware of all those who need him, who depend on him, his services. But no, he goes off to try to take over the country, leaving them -- her, her husband and their guests -- sweltering in this oppressive summer heat under siege on all sides by rabid mosquitoes.

There simply is no excuse!

**************

CONTINUED...

**************

Cats share the quiet better than dogs,

They live in a world of shapes and smells and lairs of underbrush,

Dogs clamor through, mouth open, tongue lolling,
letting their presence be known,

It's better to be invisible,
In free-fall,
Tracking the path of least resistance,

As God and Nature intended.

• "confrontation with the strawman", and,
• "a cafe, saturday morning, winter, two friends"

My Hero
Slideshow

Personal Profile

The other night my top bunk partially collapsed on me. You see, I'm in the habit of grabbing the edge of it for leverage when I get up and down and I guess that was one time too many. I got it back up with some work -- only one corner had come down. But it gave me the impetus I apparently needed -- before being crushed to death in my sleep -- to finally clear off all my clothes and stuff and get rid of some unnecessary weight. A project.

I put a large monitor, an old computer that probably doesn't even work anymore, and an electronic typewriter that weighs a ton into another trailer used for storage. In the process -- besides finding clothes I didn't know I had -- I came across a small cardboard box of pictures, letters and cards I'd completely forgotten about.

Anyway, due to the climate I'm living in -- the Great Northwest -- after several rainy seasons (when isn't it?) almost all the pictures were ruined, mushed together like a stack of newpapers left outside. Some pictures survived -- the Polaroids, remember those? They're tough. Four from my life in Cordova, Alaska back in the 80's I scanned and put on a page.

If anyone's curious, the top one on the left is of a friend and our dogs, the little one is mine; on the right is us out at the Copper River with Childs Glacier in the background; below on the left is me in my Alaskan Hotel room where I spent the winter of '87, I believe; and, on the right, another denizen of the Hotel. There were a few of us living there.

Check it out

Something else for the hell of it: a shot of somewhere in Alaska across the stern of a boat: here.

Being at sea in Alaska, in the company of those unmistakable mountains -- smoking volcanoes in the Aleutians, icebergs in Prince William Sound -- the way it made me feel -- raw, large, alive -- absolutely nothing like it.

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