sweep through universe, shock. Buggering around with time, shock. Been watching a BBC Horizon programme on gravity, in shock, shock. Seems gravity isn't a bit like glue and has nothing to do with rendered horse gizzard, a material from which glue was once manufactured. Modern physics insists that gravity does not arise when horses are boiled but is instead the result of heavy objects moving through spacetime. Such objects curve spacetime and gravity is curvature but spookily time slows when closer to heavy objects. The heavier the object moving through spacetime the more curve/gravity the slower the time. It follows that the further one is away from a heavy object, say a horse, the faster time moves. The principle point here is that both spacetime and gravity are not absolutes but variables, that they are relative. Now, gravity waves are produced when really heavy objects, say two neutron stars spin round each other. Neutron stars are unbelievable heavy, heavier even than horses and their masses swirl and twist spacetime throwing out gravitational waves as if from a universal spin cycle set for brushed cotton, which is of course a heavy cloth.
Gravity waves ripple through the universal spacetime causing it to stretch and contract and correspondingly causing time to speed up and slow down. The cosmos is in constant flux and with our fellow tenants we too are subject to these fundamental changes. We too are subject to stretching and contracting and even different time zones. Call me old fashioned but I prefer all my bits to be running in the same race. Imagine the horror of becoming stuck in a getting up for work ripple? Or a Monday morning ripple! It would be possible in this scenario to spend eight hours just getting out of bed for work, out of bed for work, out of bed for work, out of bed for work... and this is before having to go to sodding work!
Ah, but who would complain about being stuck in the astonishing sex with partner ripple, astonishing sex with partner ripple, astonishing sex, blah de blah de blah... Things balance out, the universe gives and the spacetime taketh away. Ying and Yang. Personally could do with life being a little more heavy on the Yang, but hey, that's just me.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
the polar bear problem at Nuremburg Zoo. It's a story not prepared to lie down. Hopes that Knut might mature into a pillar of respectable bear life were dashed when instead he became a raving psychopath and known to carry a gun. A spokesperson for Nuremburg Zoo was quoted as saying "Maybe it would have been better if his mudder had just gobbled him up like she did his brudder and sister, Wilfred and Wildreda. That was a messy business I know but then so is armed robbery." A spokesperson for the local bears said, "We tried to give the kid a break but he got with the wrong crowd. Stayed out late at night. Took drugs. Stole from shops. Some say he's the result of childhood trauma but we say the real cause was his mother being unable to count." A spokesperson for the local Education Department caught mid-croissant coughed, "Innumeracy amongst bears? Hey, what you supposed to do?"
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
with a topical blog, perhaps a light subject such as events at Nuremburg Zoo and that mama bear eating baby bears but decided against given it might prove too sensitive for some stomachs, but not for that huge bear's stomach! Ha ha ha. Speaking of which, I couldn't locate a photo of said polar bear eating its cuddly off-spring but did find this image of lions eating some type of horned creature, or to be more specific ex-creature.
Whilst on the subject of things eaten I want to mention, for one final time the Christmas bird. That bird was a giant among birds and I'd like to say I'm sorry it was shot, but I'm not, sorry that is. On Christmas morning we rose to open our pressies and discovered the bloody bird had supped all our Christmas booze. In the kitchen I tiptoed over empty wine and gin bottles thinking, "I'm sure we didn't finish that gin." when the sound of muffled singing came floating like an angel's air from the oven. A sea shanty it was, indeed Ewan McColl's, 'Shoals of Herring'. At first I was enraptured, transported, and even joined with a hearty verse or two myself before poking a rifle through the oven door and shooting the fucker stone dead. The bird squawked "You've got me guv." in a mockney baritone, followed by, "I'm a gonner now my ow'ld darlin'. Have a care sweedart," until finally resting its ashen face on the par boiled spuds I'd put in earlier for roasting. A tear almost blinded my eye when the bird chirped, "I'm not finished yet." and together we completed the final three verses with me on harmonies.
10 hours on gas mark 6 and the bird came through for us, as we knew it would. Also, the cheeky get didn't find the wine we'd stashed in the cellar, stupid animal confined its search to the fridge. Pre-Cambrian Birds? What the fuck do they know about modern living.
Next year, in honour of that bird's passing we're gonna eat horse because I read somewhere that birds and horses were once related, way back. Or was that birds and dinosaurs? Bollocks, as far as I'm now concerned something equine's gonna get it, in fact I can already see Trigger in the next field, "Mama, fetch that gun. Yee haw!"
Note to self, will require larger oven.