Category Archives: chaos

On invisible

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The very idea of “invisible” is a little hard to grasp. I’m not just talking about something that is really, really tiny such as an atom or an individual molecule of water, which are pretty much invisible to the human eye. What I want to talk about is something you should be able to see, but for some reason you don’t, and no, I’m not talking about stealth technology, or am I? I am not entirely sure what “invisible” means at all. The Predator can make himself “invisible” by turning on his high-tec camouflage, but that is stealthy technology that makes him hard to see, but he’s not really invisible. I think one needs to ask the hard question, can anything really be invisible that has mass? We know that a magnetic field is invisible, but it also has no mass. Light is visible and invisible according to its wavelength and the ability of the human eye to detect certain wavelengths. Again, for the Predator, other wavelengths are also visible, not invisible. Smells are invisible because the detectable parts per million are so small, we can’t see them with naked eye. If ghosts were real, they would be both visible and invisible at the same time. Certain bombers are invisible in the dark and even radar cannot seem them, but they aren’t really invisible either. Sound is invisible, and the wind is invisible, sort of. I think that it is both frightening and ironic that there are series of horror movies about men who have made themselves invisible, that the invisibility causes insanity and false grandeur. Even the tiniest bugs, amoeba, diatoms, and the like are only invisible because they are tiny and the human eye cannot distinguish anything at the atomic level. Love, or hate, are invisible, but then again, wild emotional abstractions don’t exist in the physical world other than as ideas, not as concrete realities. The closest thing to invisible in our world is the fictional cloaking device that exists in the world of Star Trek, which alters something at the sub-atomic level, changing the time phase of the object, rendering it invisible within its current physical frame and/or context. So I not only don’t know what invisible is, I also have no way of really describing it either. The actual physics of light reflecting off of an object so that said object appears invisible has yet to be truly defeated, except for the world of science fiction. None of this means, however, that we still aren’t working on it, albeit, clandestinely.

On invisible

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The very idea of “invisible” is a little hard to grasp. I’m not just talking about something that is really, really tiny such as an atom or an individual molecule of water, which are pretty much invisible to the human eye. What I want to talk about is something you should be able to see, but for some reason you don’t, and no, I’m not talking about stealth technology, or am I? I am not entirely sure what “invisible” means at all. The Predator can make himself “invisible” by turning on his high-tec camouflage, but that is stealthy technology that makes him hard to see, but he’s not really invisible. I think one needs to ask the hard question, can anything really be invisible that has mass? We know that a magnetic field is invisible, but it also has no mass. Light is visible and invisible according to its wavelength and the ability of the human eye to detect certain wavelengths. Again, for the Predator, other wavelengths are also visible, not invisible. Smells are invisible because the detectable parts per million are so small, we can’t see them with naked eye. If ghosts were real, they would be both visible and invisible at the same time. Certain bombers are invisible in the dark and even radar cannot seem them, but they aren’t really invisible either. Sound is invisible, and the wind is invisible, sort of. I think that it is both frightening and ironic that there are series of horror movies about men who have made themselves invisible, that the invisibility causes insanity and false grandeur. Even the tiniest bugs, amoeba, diatoms, and the like are only invisible because they are tiny and the human eye cannot distinguish anything at the atomic level. Love, or hate, are invisible, but then again, wild emotional abstractions don’t exist in the physical world other than as ideas, not as concrete realities. The closest thing to invisible in our world is the fictional cloaking device that exists in the world of Star Trek, which alters something at the sub-atomic level, changing the time phase of the object, rendering it invisible within its current physical frame and/or context. So I not only don’t know what invisible is, I also have no way of really describing it either. The actual physics of light reflecting off of an object so that said object appears invisible has yet to be truly defeated, except for the world of science fiction. None of this means, however, that we still aren’t working on it, albeit, clandestinely.

On snoring

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A nasty thing to do, but not all of us can control the fact that we snore. Personally, I would prefer to not snore, pass the night in total, sepulchral silence. Because the night is for total, blackout silence. Maybe a cricket, maybe a ticking grandfather clock, maybe the creaking of centenary Victorian home. No one should get up in the night. Snoring is an interruption in the peace of the night. Snoring is non-lineal, unpredictable, chaotic, torturous. If sleep and rest are about restoration and redemption, how can snoring be anything but trouble? I have startled myself awake from snoring too loudly. Luckily, this has only happened once or twice. My snoring is annoying, but it’s not consistent. Many nights I pass quietly in the arms of the sleep angels who watch over this simulacrum of death that we call sleep. Snoring is an ironic and bitter development that interrupts that sweet rest which restores and rebuilds after a hard day at work, or just a had day. Given the right circumstances, we all snore: a cold, allergies, to many drinks, too tired, crabby. So this is the dilemma: who sleeps on the sofa? Snorer or snoree? If the paint is coming off of the ceiling, or the wallpaper is pealing, perhaps the snorer should be encouraged to seek refuge in another room and leave the poor suffering victim to enjoy the bed alone, especially if earplugs are not an option.

On snoring

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A nasty thing to do, but not all of us can control the fact that we snore. Personally, I would prefer to not snore, pass the night in total, sepulchral silence. Because the night is for total, blackout silence. Maybe a cricket, maybe a ticking grandfather clock, maybe the creaking of centenary Victorian home. No one should get up in the night. Snoring is an interruption in the peace of the night. Snoring is non-lineal, unpredictable, chaotic, torturous. If sleep and rest are about restoration and redemption, how can snoring be anything but trouble? I have startled myself awake from snoring too loudly. Luckily, this has only happened once or twice. My snoring is annoying, but it’s not consistent. Many nights I pass quietly in the arms of the sleep angels who watch over this simulacrum of death that we call sleep. Snoring is an ironic and bitter development that interrupts that sweet rest which restores and rebuilds after a hard day at work, or just a had day. Given the right circumstances, we all snore: a cold, allergies, to many drinks, too tired, crabby. So this is the dilemma: who sleeps on the sofa? Snorer or snoree? If the paint is coming off of the ceiling, or the wallpaper is pealing, perhaps the snorer should be encouraged to seek refuge in another room and leave the poor suffering victim to enjoy the bed alone, especially if earplugs are not an option.

On stormy weather

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When it thunders, one feels about five years old again. There is something totally viceral, totally primal about the chills that run down your spine when a clap of thunder shakes the house. Are there swirling chaotic winds blowing down off the plains of Kansas? You wonder. Is that fear I smell when a clap of thunder hits something near the house? The thunder becomes crisper and louder, and you wonder about taking cover. Raindrops clatter off the top of the chimney cap. Will Mother Nature be merciful? Or will she huff and puff and blow the house down? You feel small when the wind blows, the lightening strikes, and the hail clatters against the windows. Your reaction is not logical or sensible, but irrational and fearful as the wind grows to a roaring gale. Is the house safe? Oh, ye of little faith. Our puny homes are just a matchbox construction compared to the power and fury of a storm roaring across central Texas on its way to devastate Arkansas and Louisiana. Straight line winds, tornados, hail, torrential rain, and lightening are all the violent features of a weather phenomenon that is only too common in the month of April. We need the rain, but we would like to keep our trees. The things is these storms are not completely predictable in spite of what the weather people claim. In fact, the weather people know that they can only predict the weather within certain time parameters–the further you move out from the here and now, the less accurate their predictions are. Weather is a non-linear equation that is only predictable over an extended period of time because weather events are self-similar, but at any given moment, you might be wrong.

On stormy weather

Posted on by

When it thunders, one feels about five years old again. There is something totally viceral, totally primal about the chills that run down your spine when a clap of thunder shakes the house. Are there swirling chaotic winds blowing down off the plains of Kansas? You wonder. Is that fear I smell when a clap of thunder hits something near the house? The thunder becomes crisper and louder, and you wonder about taking cover. Raindrops clatter off the top of the chimney cap. Will Mother Nature be merciful? Or will she huff and puff and blow the house down? You feel small when the wind blows, the lightening strikes, and the hail clatters against the windows. Your reaction is not logical or sensible, but irrational and fearful as the wind grows to a roaring gale. Is the house safe? Oh, ye of little faith. Our puny homes are just a matchbox construction compared to the power and fury of a storm roaring across central Texas on its way to devastate Arkansas and Louisiana. Straight line winds, tornados, hail, torrential rain, and lightening are all the violent features of a weather phenomenon that is only too common in the month of April. We need the rain, but we would like to keep our trees. The things is these storms are not completely predictable in spite of what the weather people claim. In fact, the weather people know that they can only predict the weather within certain time parameters–the further you move out from the here and now, the less accurate their predictions are. Weather is a non-linear equation that is only predictable over an extended period of time because weather events are self-similar, but at any given moment, you might be wrong.

On driving in Houston

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First, let me say that the title of worst traffic in the USA (a designation given by AAA) is rightly deserved. I had to spend a few hours near the Galeria in Houston yesterday, and that traffic was brutal. To say that Houston drivers are aggressive is to really not understand the situation at all. Though it may be a cliche to say that Houston drivers approach driving as if it were a gladiator sport, I don’t think it’s too far from the truth. Too many cars in too little space with too little time to get anywhere equals gridlock almost twenty-four seven. The problem is too much individualism and not enough civic cooperation. Everybody wants to have their car and nobody wants to share, so traffic jams are full of angry and aggressive drivers who are all going nowhere all at the same time. Why they call it rush hour is a mystery to me because nobody is rushing anywhere. I understand the problem, but I can’t figure out how the people deal with this on a daily basis without going out of their minds. Or maybe they don’t? All roads are jammed, streets, feeders, and highways. You often have to wait two, three, or four cycles of the stoplight to get where you are going. Merging traffic brings flowing traffic to a complete standstill, and random construction zones throw a weird curveball into the entire chaotic mess. Sorry, Houston, I know you have lots to offer in terms of culture, food, sports, work, and shopping, but I’m not entirely sure it’s worth braving the traffic to get to any of it.

On bookstores

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I’m always up for going into the next bookstore. I’ve been addicted to books my whole life, but I don’t see that as a bad thing. I don’t necessarily need to be looking for any particular book. I am always content with just browsing through the novels, perusing the non-fiction, rejecting any and all self-help books (none of them work anyway). Hard cover, soft cover, trade paperbacks, I don’t particularly care as long as the whole book is there. Old, new, books are always a new adventure, even when they are old. I can read titles, leaf through random volumes, dawdle over a well-written preface, linger over an undiscovered novel that I had no idea existed at all. I am capricious, following no line of logic or organized pattern of searching. Real discovery occurs when you break-out of pre-established lines of thought or prejudice, adopting a chaotic, non-linear anti-process for discovering new titles. Bookstores, especially independent bookstores, or even better, used bookstores, are a savage jungle of titles, authors, and narratives, meta and other. Upon entering a bookstore I don’t always have an objective in mind, and I have no problem with walking out empty-handed. At this point in my life, I have enough books to serve me for a good long time, and some books need to be left behind for future reading endeavors. Yet, you never know when you might come across something new (or old) that really speaks to you. You have to be open to everything when you walk into a bookstore.

On bookstores

Posted on by

I’m always up for going into the next bookstore. I’ve been addicted to books my whole life, but I don’t see that as a bad thing. I don’t necessarily need to be looking for any particular book. I am always content with just browsing through the novels, perusing the non-fiction, rejecting any and all self-help books (none of them work anyway). Hard cover, soft cover, trade paperbacks, I don’t particularly care as long as the whole book is there. Old, new, books are always a new adventure, even when they are old. I can read titles, leaf through random volumes, dawdle over a well-written preface, linger over an undiscovered novel that I had no idea existed at all. I am capricious, following no line of logic or organized pattern of searching. Real discovery occurs when you break-out of pre-established lines of thought or prejudice, adopting a chaotic, non-linear anti-process for discovering new titles. Bookstores, especially independent bookstores, or even better, used bookstores, are a savage jungle of titles, authors, and narratives, meta and other. Upon entering a bookstore I don’t always have an objective in mind, and I have no problem with walking out empty-handed. At this point in my life, I have enough books to serve me for a good long time, and some books need to be left behind for future reading endeavors. Yet, you never know when you might come across something new (or old) that really speaks to you. You have to be open to everything when you walk into a bookstore.