Readers, allow me to introduce myself. I am Stephen Hawking. It is an honour to have been asked by the editors of Velosophy to submit an article on the latest research into the use of bicycles in astrophysics.
I have long been interested in bicycles. I have often dreamed of riding one, but alas that is not to be. However, if you will excuse a jocular reference to a pet theory of Professor Sigmund Freud, I have been on a journey.
It is a journey into astrophysics and the secrets of Black Holes. Or more correctly, the secret of Black Holes, for current theory suggests that there is only one.
As you know, we scientists have come to many dead ends in this field. We are at one now, with the No Hair Theorem and the Black Hole Information Paradox.
In a nutshell, the No Hair Theorem attests that we can observe only three properties of Black Holes: their mass, their charge and their angular momentum. All other information disappears below the Black Hole horizon. Therefore all Black Holes are identical as far as we can see. That is, they have no other observable properties; in other words, No Hair! Quite comical, I'm sure you will agree.
I do not wish to bore my readers. I shall now come to the point. I have read with much interest Salvador Dali's brilliant article referring to his NanoString Bicycle. I too have been thinking along the lines of using bicycles as a way of discovering more about the entropy of Black Holes.
In particular I am interested in following up the String. That most intriguing green, blue and violet String. For the String represents a way of coming back from inside the hole. I am in the process of developing an equation to represent this backward movement. It involves finding the square root of B.
The square root of B ? you ask. Fascinating, but what is B ?
Readers, here is the sticking place. We are looking for suggestions. For as yet we do not know whether it is Bang, or Bicycle, or Backwardness, or, as some suggest, itself, the letter B. This last has some credibility, believe it or not. Astrophysics is agreed by many astrophysicists in their more reflective moments to be reliant on semantics, after all.
So dear cycling philosophers, let me know your ideas. The scientific world is always open to input from people like you.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Tiger Lily Swallows the Sea
Tiger Lily loves Port Noarlunga,
she especially loves it today.
She walks up Clare Street under blue trees and sky
till it's laid out as if on a tray.
She swallows the air, which is draftful and cool
And eats up the lifesavers' tent.
She devours the reef and the jetty
and the steps that are made of cement.
Tiger Lily loves Port Noarlunga
She especially loves it today.
She swallows the sea which is wine green and blue
She swallows the sand and the seaweed too.
She wishes to swallow it all down inside her
if only her tummy were bigger and wider.
Tiger Lily loves Port Noarlunga
She especially loves it today.
She swallows the children
She swallows a ball,
She swallows the cliffs that are crunchy and tall,
She wishes that she could just swallow it all
and keep it forever this way.
Tiger Lily loves Port Noarlunga
She especially loves it today.
She thinks if she could
drink the tide in full flood
and take in the sky
through the gap in her eye,
if she could just bite
at the dog on the right
which is tied to a board
and is being ignored
then this will have been a good day
she especially loves it today.
She walks up Clare Street under blue trees and sky
till it's laid out as if on a tray.
She swallows the air, which is draftful and cool
And eats up the lifesavers' tent.
She devours the reef and the jetty
and the steps that are made of cement.
Tiger Lily loves Port Noarlunga
She especially loves it today.
She swallows the sea which is wine green and blue
She swallows the sand and the seaweed too.
She wishes to swallow it all down inside her
if only her tummy were bigger and wider.
Tiger Lily loves Port Noarlunga
She especially loves it today.
She swallows the children
She swallows a ball,
She swallows the cliffs that are crunchy and tall,
She wishes that she could just swallow it all
and keep it forever this way.
Tiger Lily loves Port Noarlunga
She especially loves it today.
She thinks if she could
drink the tide in full flood
and take in the sky
through the gap in her eye,
if she could just bite
at the dog on the right
which is tied to a board
and is being ignored
then this will have been a good day
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Too Specific Exorcism No Good
An exorcism is always pronounced at the beginning of the lunch hour concerts:
Ladies and gentlemen may I ask you all to please turn off your mobile phones.
It works, for mobile phones, but it's far too specific, if you ask me. Take today for instance. Marija Bajalica was playing Haydn's Piano Sonata No 38 in F on the piano. How hard would it have been to have added this exorcism before she began:
In the name of the father the son and the holy ghost don't hum please, amen.
Because we were plagued during the entire first movement by a hummer.
And another even stranger spirit had entered the hall untroubled by an exorcism. I saw evidence of this spirit as Marija played Schumann's Etudes Symphoniques. These are a series of variations each more moody than the last, except for the last.
I was watching the hands of Marija, which were long and catlike. I was sad because I couldn't see the tips of her fingers, due to the angle at which I was sitting.
I looked idly down at the floor under the seat of the man in front of me. I saw a square of light, illuminating stiletto marks in the wood, and 2 faint lines where the floorboards joined. Suddenly there appeared in the lower half of the square of light, as though performing on a tiny stage, the shadows of the tips of 3 fingers dancing rhythmically to Marija's etude.
What could they have been but the spirits of Marija's hidden fingers, and how easily could their escape have been prevented?
In the name of the father son and holy ghost keep your hands to yourselves amen.
Ladies and gentlemen may I ask you all to please turn off your mobile phones.
It works, for mobile phones, but it's far too specific, if you ask me. Take today for instance. Marija Bajalica was playing Haydn's Piano Sonata No 38 in F on the piano. How hard would it have been to have added this exorcism before she began:
In the name of the father the son and the holy ghost don't hum please, amen.
Because we were plagued during the entire first movement by a hummer.
And another even stranger spirit had entered the hall untroubled by an exorcism. I saw evidence of this spirit as Marija played Schumann's Etudes Symphoniques. These are a series of variations each more moody than the last, except for the last.
I was watching the hands of Marija, which were long and catlike. I was sad because I couldn't see the tips of her fingers, due to the angle at which I was sitting.
I looked idly down at the floor under the seat of the man in front of me. I saw a square of light, illuminating stiletto marks in the wood, and 2 faint lines where the floorboards joined. Suddenly there appeared in the lower half of the square of light, as though performing on a tiny stage, the shadows of the tips of 3 fingers dancing rhythmically to Marija's etude.
What could they have been but the spirits of Marija's hidden fingers, and how easily could their escape have been prevented?
In the name of the father son and holy ghost keep your hands to yourselves amen.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Short Exorcisms
So, I was wondering, what was the exorcism that was printed in the children's hornbooks? And I googled up some pictures and discovered it was this: In the name of the father and the son and the holy ghost amen.
And I thought, that's not an exorcism. That's just shorthand for an exorcism. And then I remembered last night.
We went to the Annual Hawke Lecture in the Adelaide Town Hall. Professor Ross Garnaut was to lecture on Climate Change. But before the lecture could begin there was an exorcism to perform.
We were exhorted to stand up. We stood up. The governor, his wife and entourage marched with admirable speed through the grand doorway down the central aisle to their positions in the front row. A recording of The Governor's Salute was played.
The Governor's Salute is like two fingers up. The first bar of the national anthem and the last. The effect of this upon the audience is a kind of bafflement, mingled with relief.
And I thought, that's not an exorcism. That's just shorthand for an exorcism. And then I remembered last night.
We went to the Annual Hawke Lecture in the Adelaide Town Hall. Professor Ross Garnaut was to lecture on Climate Change. But before the lecture could begin there was an exorcism to perform.
We were exhorted to stand up. We stood up. The governor, his wife and entourage marched with admirable speed through the grand doorway down the central aisle to their positions in the front row. A recording of The Governor's Salute was played.
The Governor's Salute is like two fingers up. The first bar of the national anthem and the last. The effect of this upon the audience is a kind of bafflement, mingled with relief.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
& Ampersand
Yes Pliny, but aren't all transformations unlikely? Nevertheless, I know that this is true.
And how, pray, do you know that it is true?
Because, Pliny, I read it , not in Wikipedia but in Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable.
Perhaps, then, it was a fable.
No, it is a phrase, which was found in the old hornbooks, I said primly. The character was added after the 26 letters of the alphabet, and was called ampersand as a corruption of 'and per se and'. The ampersand itself is an adaptation of 'et', which as you know means 'and' in Latin.
Nonsense, said Pliny. How do you get from 'et' to that squiggle?
You don't have to. You only need to get from the squiggle back to 'et'.
A good point. And what may I ask is a hornbook?
It's a thin board with a handle, as a backing to a sheet of vellum, and covered by a thin piece of transparent horn. Medieval schoolchildren used them for their lessons.
How delightful, said Pliny. Was anything else written in them?
Numbers, the Lords Prayer, and an exorcism.
Basic, and exemplary, said Pliny.
And how, pray, do you know that it is true?
Because, Pliny, I read it , not in Wikipedia but in Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable.
Perhaps, then, it was a fable.
No, it is a phrase, which was found in the old hornbooks, I said primly. The character was added after the 26 letters of the alphabet, and was called ampersand as a corruption of 'and per se and'. The ampersand itself is an adaptation of 'et', which as you know means 'and' in Latin.
Nonsense, said Pliny. How do you get from 'et' to that squiggle?
You don't have to. You only need to get from the squiggle back to 'et'.
A good point. And what may I ask is a hornbook?
It's a thin board with a handle, as a backing to a sheet of vellum, and covered by a thin piece of transparent horn. Medieval schoolchildren used them for their lessons.
How delightful, said Pliny. Was anything else written in them?
Numbers, the Lords Prayer, and an exorcism.
Basic, and exemplary, said Pliny.
Monday, November 2, 2009
And per se and
I read your blog yesterday, said Pliny the Elder.
And? I said
And, he said, I wondered about three things.
What were they?
Firstly, did the pearl simply emerge from your leg one day, or was it a transformation?
I believe it was a transformation, Pliny. Many years earlier I had fallen down when playing netball at school, and scraped my leg. I believe that pearl was formed in the manner that an oyster forms a pearl, around an irritation, in this case a tiny piece of grit or stone.
And how did it emerge?
It popped out fifteen years later, with a little help from me.
O marvellous! And secondly what happened to the Grandma?
I don't know, but I wondered if the event had been a scattering.
Surely not. The Grandma was still living, after all.
And thirdly?
Thirdly, what is the meaning of ampersand?
But Pliny, don't you know? It means a sign that means 'and'. It derives from Latin, so I thought you'd know. AND PER SE AND.
That is a transformation as unlikely as the rest.
And? I said
And, he said, I wondered about three things.
What were they?
Firstly, did the pearl simply emerge from your leg one day, or was it a transformation?
I believe it was a transformation, Pliny. Many years earlier I had fallen down when playing netball at school, and scraped my leg. I believe that pearl was formed in the manner that an oyster forms a pearl, around an irritation, in this case a tiny piece of grit or stone.
And how did it emerge?
It popped out fifteen years later, with a little help from me.
O marvellous! And secondly what happened to the Grandma?
I don't know, but I wondered if the event had been a scattering.
Surely not. The Grandma was still living, after all.
And thirdly?
Thirdly, what is the meaning of ampersand?
But Pliny, don't you know? It means a sign that means 'and'. It derives from Latin, so I thought you'd know. AND PER SE AND.
That is a transformation as unlikely as the rest.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Sand; Ampersand; Pearl
1. Sand.
We went to the beach twice on the weekend. On Saturday we went to Tennyson. The sand was white and soft and hot. I took off my shoes. The sand was already inside.
The sand was broken and in disarray. A horse had galloped over it. There is a special way of telling that. It is by the marks of the horse's shoes.
The sand was ugly. It looked as though a battle had been fought there. Smashed and bashed.
Heaps of seaweed had fetched up on the sand at regular intervals. Each heap looked like something. A lobster, a duck, a fish, a giant bee, laid flat out.
Under the water the sand was squelchy and sucked at our feet.
2. Ampersand.
On Sunday we were at Brighton. It was a very hot afternoon. The tide was coming in; there was not much sand to stand on, near the rocks north of the jetty.
A party of people stood between the rocks and the sea at the end of a ramp. They looked peculiar. They stood in an informal arrow formation. At the apex, an old lady in a wheelchair, shaded by a yellow and brown fringed parasol. We thought it might be a wedding. A funny wedding.
We went down the steps to the beach south of the jetty. Here there was plenty of sand. The sand was soft and white and hot. I took off my shoes but the sand was already inside.
We finished our walk. I put on my shoes. It was half past four.
Grandma, the wheelchair and parasol had gone. The rest of the party were still there, laughing. I knew that it wasn't a wedding.
At eight thirty we were driving home in the car. I was aware of the sand. The irritating sand. I thought that when I got home there might be pearls between my toes, although toes are not oysters.
3. Pearl.
That is not to say the human body is incapable of producing a pearl. I know that it is. Once, one came out of my leg. To be truthful it wasn't really a pearl. More like a perfectly round tiny grey stone.
Had it been a real pearl, I'd have kept it.
We went to the beach twice on the weekend. On Saturday we went to Tennyson. The sand was white and soft and hot. I took off my shoes. The sand was already inside.
The sand was broken and in disarray. A horse had galloped over it. There is a special way of telling that. It is by the marks of the horse's shoes.
The sand was ugly. It looked as though a battle had been fought there. Smashed and bashed.
Heaps of seaweed had fetched up on the sand at regular intervals. Each heap looked like something. A lobster, a duck, a fish, a giant bee, laid flat out.
Under the water the sand was squelchy and sucked at our feet.
2. Ampersand.
On Sunday we were at Brighton. It was a very hot afternoon. The tide was coming in; there was not much sand to stand on, near the rocks north of the jetty.
A party of people stood between the rocks and the sea at the end of a ramp. They looked peculiar. They stood in an informal arrow formation. At the apex, an old lady in a wheelchair, shaded by a yellow and brown fringed parasol. We thought it might be a wedding. A funny wedding.
We went down the steps to the beach south of the jetty. Here there was plenty of sand. The sand was soft and white and hot. I took off my shoes but the sand was already inside.
We finished our walk. I put on my shoes. It was half past four.
Grandma, the wheelchair and parasol had gone. The rest of the party were still there, laughing. I knew that it wasn't a wedding.
At eight thirty we were driving home in the car. I was aware of the sand. The irritating sand. I thought that when I got home there might be pearls between my toes, although toes are not oysters.
3. Pearl.
That is not to say the human body is incapable of producing a pearl. I know that it is. Once, one came out of my leg. To be truthful it wasn't really a pearl. More like a perfectly round tiny grey stone.
Had it been a real pearl, I'd have kept it.
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