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Dear Venturers,
The Horizon Venture – 10 short stories about interplanetary diaspora
by Vidal Montgomery
I have now completed recording, mixing and mastering for my first full album, The Horizon Venture.
I would like to thank ALL of those - the nameless AND the shameless - who contributed their time skill, attention, patience, compassion and wisdom to help to illuminate one more star in this galaxy of recorded music. You are the ones from whom I have learned that the collective purpose of all these stars is consistent navigation for wayward seafarers, those who would begin their own venture in millennia to come. Every body needs a light to lead the way, and may this set of recordings be such a light.
The album is scheduled for digital release on 1st October 2012, and I'm planning to do some live shows in the last quarter of the year
in the meantime, I am making the full recordings available for advance preview at
When you get a moment, please have a listen and let me know your thoughts about any aspect of the project - the music, the people involved, the idea, the theme. Not only do these (bona fide) comments help to generate interest for ensuring the project' continued success in the form of live performances and download sales, it's also nice for me to get a sense of how my work actually makes you feel ( inasmuch as this can be described by words)
If you'd like to get in touch, the best ways at the moment are:
- Log into soundcloud and leave a comment on the tracks or the set at http://soundcloud.com/thehorizonventure
( I recommend this because there is a lot of other great music from great artists on soundcloud)
- Email me back with a comment or reference ( let me know whether you're happy for me to use your comment for promotional purposes;)
- Leave a comment / reference on the Horizon Venture Group page at https://www.facebook.com/groups/36524987075/
I am planning a private video screening of the Live Theatre performance(s) of "The Horizon Venture", as filmed by Simon Beckett of Factorum film, before the digital release.  There will be a post presentation discussion, and an opportunity to be involved in a video documentary about the next 500 years, and where we see ourselves in it Those closest to me will know, this is a subject very close to my heart.
If you'd like to attend this screening do RSVP and let me know.  The screening will, in all likelihood, be in London, but if people decide there's somewhere better, I'll consider it )
Finally, this project is actively engaged in press, publicity, promotion and booking, so if you know anyone who may be interested, please feel free to forward
Hotep, and thanks for your time and attention
Vidal Montgomery
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damn man what happened to you

I knew my older brother and I didn't agree with his direction but I am thankful he kept discouraging me from following him. The crap I was introduced to as the younger brother on the outside via my outcast vantage point and my imagination running amuck. He disappeared into the army, went to Viet Nam. Someone eventually came home banishing my brother's name. Damn man, what happened to you, I asked. He remembered me alright but that person too had moved on.

 

Been struggling with slave descendants returning to Africa where some of our forefathers lived or passed through. When you are away, you diss-own on both sides over time. You are a stinking African and you are a stinking American. OK, we are odious to each other. Present generations have looked at each other from a distance through the biased media lens of a third party. Africans see the "famous" blacks, with bad behavior, immorality, back stabbing antics and money grabbing sell-outs, pimp'n and murdered english speaking. I have yet to see prosperous African city life on TV akin to my own American city life. Always ghettos and starving kids and folks wearing colorful rags, chasing goats and driving cars you couldn't sell to a junkyard. And highly colonized schooled Africans reminding us of the slave masters we are trying to escape from.

Reminds me of the field nigger vs the house nigger debate. You got the manners of a pig boy, shut up fool if I don't grow it you'd be with the pigs too. Time and distance, long time and great distance. While you were gone, things have changed here, the people who birthed you are history. I am not like the ones you left behind. That's OK, I am not like the ones who left either. We were not allowed the freedom to propagate our heritages, the agenda was to strip away everything but the work. Yeah we here in Africa are running crazy, the agenda is to strip everything away from us too. Why you black Americans say you are African? That's where we came from! Why you Africans say you are not French, British, you've been colonized more than us? We still got the land and our language! They look at each other, "damn man what happened to you?"

My brother passed on a couple of years ago. I looked at him wondering how he could have changed so drastically in such a short a time. When you grow up with family the change is shared. When time and distance are involved you grow differently. Who reached across the water to maintain the shared growing up during slave times? Today the communications reveal the changed persons. But the images are managed to give false information. Sorry Africa the famous black personalities in media do not represent all or typical black Americans, just like the images of famine and war are not the true face of Africa we are often shown. Eventually we must meet, reacquaint, form a buffer culture strategy, plan for a few generations down the road, learn from each other, peel away the bias, weed out the elements that hinder us. The antidote to time and distance is time and closeness. Painful either way, yes.

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The Queen of Science...

Discover Magazine

1 The median score for college-bound seniors on the math section of the SAT in 2011 is about 510 out of 800. So right there is proof that there are lots of unsolved math problems.

2 The great 19th-century mathematician Carl Friedrich Gauss called his field “the queen of sciences.”

3 If math is a queen, she’s the White Queen from Alice in Wonderland, who bragged that she believed “as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” (No surprise that Lewis Carroll also wrote about plane algebraic geometry.)

4 For example, the Navier-Stokes equations are used all the time to approximate turbulent fluid flows around aircraft and in the bloodstream, but the math behind them still isn’t understood.

5 And the oddest bits of math often turn out to be useful. Quaternions, which can describe the rotation of 3-D objects, were discovered in 1843. They were considered beautiful but useless until 1985, when computer scientists applied them to rendering digital animation.


My favorite Calculus problem:


More at the link below:

Discover Magazine: 20 Things You Didn't Know About...Math

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R-E-S-P-E-C-T...

PhDComicsdotcom

EURODOC: Recognising doctoral candidates as professional employees rather than students is one way of doing this. At the moment, only Denmark, Norway, Sweden and the Netherlands give those working towards a PhD in Europe this status. For PhD candidates in these countries, their employee status benefits both them and their employer. The employee gets job benefits such as social security rights, access to personnel health care and internal internet systems (one candidate on a short term contractor we spoke to was not able to access the intranet because she was not a proper employee) while the employer gets a more productive and involved employee, who has a stake in the successful performance of the research institution. Treating PhDs as equals from the get-go means that further down the line, these highly motivated employees should be more likely to continue in research.

I'm sure postdocs with school bills would agree!

New Scientist Big Wide World: Make PhDs employees not students
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What do you get when you meld the talent of a superb writer with the skill of an exceptional artist? A vibrant tapestry of creativity. Sword and Soul Adventures, featuring Shange, is one of the most aesthetically pleasing graphic novels that I have had the pleasure of reading. And I'm not just referring to the female protagonist, whom the artist, Kristopher Mosby, renders with immaculate skill. Every illustration in this novel is worthy of being blown up, framed and displayed in an art museum. The colors are vibrant and crisp, imbuing scenes with life. People and animals jump from the pages with full dimensionality. The backgrounds blossom with grandeur.

As for the writing. Those who have read Milton Davis' work will not be surprised at the magnificence of his prose. This is a literate and literary comic book.

The story. Shange is a fallen goddess, exiled from the heavens for the infraction of falling in love with a mortal. The spirits also punished Shange's lover, Mijorga, by imprisoning his soul in the body of a lion. In human form, the sword-wielding Shange and her feline companion, wanders the land. Shange pines for her former existence as a celestial being while Mijorga struggles to retain his humanity, lest it be subsumed by the wild nature of the body he inhabits.

When Shange is summoned by the spirits to assist villagers besieged by a malevolent force, she springs into action.

Part One is an introduction to this powerful and deadly heroine. I fully expect Part Two to deliver a higher dosage of superlative storytelling combined with stunning visual excitement. Sword and Soul Adventures is a great read and Shange is a worthy addition to the ever growing pantheon of sword and sorcery heroes and heroines. I urge everyone to grab this title. You may have a problem ordering from IndyPlanet...or maybe it was just me. Anyway, order this!!

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I'm feeling especially pessimistic on this beautiful spring day. I just read a piece that had zombie prostitutes from outer space and I feel so vulnerable! I tried to change the vibe by checking out a juice emporium's web site (spring cleaning, ya know) and lo and behold a brother had a treatise on preparedness on his website.


Dude started in on what to eat in an emergency and all I could think of was crazy folks with guns stealing my food and emptying my gas tank. You see, I'm a non-violent kind of gal that would rather eat nuts and berries, but what if all there was left were the squirrels and chipmunks in my back yard?

I don't own a gun and I don't want one, because the only reason to have one is to kill something and that ain't my vibe. However, I do have a right nice machete. Maybe I can learn to get down with a compound bow if I need to kill a deer or two. 


I'm just saying . . . Are you ready for a coming apocalypse? What would you do? How would you react? Are you in an urban or suburban area? Do you hunt? Are you an avid viewer of Survivorman on cable (gotta love Les Stroud)? Could you survive without supermarket vittles? What about water? What about your neighbors? Are you making any plans? Do you think black folk will be left in the lurch if something happens in Amerika? 


I'm researching for an alternative history/dystopian future story. I'm checking out black survivalists websites like:INTERNATIONAL PREPAREDNESS NETWORK. The website is called readyforanything.org - yeah, I'm feeling it. I'd like to hear from you guys. Our characters usually can survive the toughest situations. What would you do? Hit me back in the comments before December 21, 2012 ( darn those crafty Mayans).


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NOT Angry Birds...


SCIENCE MAG: The U.S. Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency and the Office of Naval Research are investing millions of dollars into so-called micro air vehicles and nano air vehicles, as well as basic research into how birds and insects fly. While the theory of airflow over a flapping wing remains surprisingly rudimentary, humans are now making significant progress in understanding how to fly, control, and land flapping-wing aircraft.
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Snow Flake Physics...

A MULTIFACETED PROBLEM: Realistically simulating the growth of snowflakes has proved a huge challenge. Above, two examples of faceted snowflake structures.
Image: Barrett/Garcke/Nürnberg

Scientists as far back as Johannes Kepler have pondered the mystery of snowflakes: Their formation requires subtle physics that to this day is not well understood. Even a small change in temperature or humidity can radically alter the shape and size of a snowflake, making it notoriously difficult to model these ice crystals on a computer. But after a flurry of attempts by several scientists, a team of mathematicians has for the first time succeeded in simulating a panoply of snowflake shapes using basic conservation laws, such as preserving the number of water molecules in the air.

 

Kind of late for this article, but it was a very mild winter in the northeast. To next winter:

1000 Awesome Things


Scientific American: Snowflake Growth Successfully Modeled from Physical Laws

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So Free...

Trimming uncertainty. Results of climate simulations that best match observations since 1960 (those depicted in darker shades of blue) suggest that global average temperature in 2050 will be between 1.4°C and 3°C warmer than the global average measured between 1961 and 1990.

Credit: D. J. Rowlands et al., Nature Geoscience, Advanced Online Publication (25 March)


By 2050, global average temperature could be between 1.4°C and 3°C warmer than it was just a couple of decades ago, according to a new study that seeks to address the largest sources of uncertainty in current climate models. That's substantially higher than estimates produced by other climate analyses, suggesting that Earth's climate could warm much more quickly than previously thought.

 

 

Many factors affect global and regional climate, including planet-warming "greenhouse" gases, solar activity, light-scattering atmospheric pollutants, and heat transfer among the land, sea, and air, to name just a few. There are so many influences to consider that it makes determining the effect of any one factor—despite years and sometimes decades of measurements—difficult.

 
The Internet as we know it: started as a project by the so-called, forewarned "military-industrial-complex" (DARPA). Think of a wagon wheel: most military communications for command, control, communications and countermeasures (C3CM*) had the headquarters element in the center, and/or two hours rear of the "forward edge of the battle area" (FEBA). Hence, we and the Soviets had a "hub-spoke" wagon wheel configuration to our [then] C3CM, thus finding out where ours or the Soviet's HQ was was a matter of espionage; nuking it out of existence presented...problems.
 
Away with hub-spoke! DARPA's solution was a "spider's web" where destroying one base had nothing to do with your overall communications. There would be an alternate route to get word to your battle field elements; you'd never be "radio silent" i.e. without communication. It started quite humble: big, bulky (and, ugly) Zenith computers on puke-green screens with the equivalent communication of what teens now do with their thumbs almost at a whim - texting. This, along with FORTRAN on key punched, computer index cards that you had to have in the right order, or you'd just be starting over (ugh - you can tell this used to be the source of engineering nightmares), I'm glad it is a part of our distant history.
 
The first commercial user sold to the public was Netscape as a browser, soon followed by AOL (yes, people still use it), followed by others...
 
Judging from the commentary at the foot of the article, the science is once again "poo-poohed" by loud opinions to the contrary. That will be picked up and broadcast as the "doubt" as in evolution in the classroom "teaching the controversy."
 
Senior Master Sergeant Roland S. Wilkins was one of my AFJROTC instructors at North Forsyth High School in Winston-Salem, NC. He was fond of a quote that at the time many of us couldn't quite understand. It's clearer now in the age of the Internet, blogs, tweets and sound bites cum "news":
 
"We're going to become 'so free,' we're not going to be able to do anything."

 

 

* Now: Command, Control, Communications, Computers and Intelligence - C4I.

 

 

AAAS Science Mag: Earth Warming Faster Than Expected

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I AM...



I’ve posted on this elsewhere: “Old Tapes”; “BWB”; “Self-Portrait.” I’ve changed my Facebook profile photo to Trayvon, and spoken with my sons. Let me explain:

In “Old Tapes,” I revisited an incident in which I was forcibly frisked by a store detective. He didn’t care if I had a microscope, a telescope, a tool kit, a chemistry set at home, physics and science books nor did he ask if I had a complete set of the Encyclopedia Britannica. No, I was a suspect for shoplifting for merely combing my hair: guilty until proven innocent. “BWB” was an admittedly emotional response directly to the absurdity of a teenager losing his life over his dress, an iced tea and skittles; “Self-Portrait” was written earlier, but reflected the same concerns.

In Nanos Gigantium Humeris Insidentes, I did describe my background a bit, but not so the photo. I became Brigade Commander of Winston-Salem/Forsyth County Schools '79 - 80 on the negative answer to what I thought was a rhetorical question to the Commander for the ’76-77 school year: “what would it take for someone to rise to your rank?” His answer was specifically addressed (to my ethnicity and potential): “Your kind will NEVER get to this rank!” (Never) say never: the complete irony was he went in an enlisted, I an Air Force officer. We saw each other on active duty at Bergstrom Air Force Base in Austin, Texas. He had a Constitutional obligation to salute me.Smiley

Women and men of a certain age in my culture can trace back to when we lived in humble conditions on a segregated side of of our respective towns, I recall numerous times when the sight of drug dealers and runners; switch blades, kitchen hatchets (both directed at me) or guns threatened our lives. Despite these challenges, many of us went to college – HBCUs, Ivy League, Graduate Schools – and attained degrees for a better life. Our parents, and leaders of the Civil Rights movement (like my sister) inspired us to do this.

Tony Morrison said: "In this country American means white. Everyone else has to hyphenate." So, I am classed as African-American because Negro/Black wasn’t definitive enough for Malcolm X. As he went on his own pilgrimage of self-discovery to Mecca, he coined “Afro American,” founding the Organization of Afro American Unity (dissolved after his assassination). Reverend Jesse Jackson is credited as the source of “African-American,” since as a fellow engineering student from A and T pointed out: “there’s no such country as ‘Afro.’” And to be sure: Africa is a continent of 53 different nationalities, as diverse as this nation in cultures and ethnicity.

Yet, all this effort towards equity, to “pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps,” we as our parents must have “the talk” with our male sons, how to behave in public, how to talk to the police if stopped, how not to appear “a threat.” Yet, I still get quick looks when I get on an elevator, shifted purses, I must put others at ease; apologize when professionally embarrassed in email. Guilty until [I've] proven [myself] innocent...

I AM: the father of two statistics: The risk of dying from homicide among non-Hispanic black male teenagers (39.2 per 100,000 population) is more than twice that of Hispanic males (17.1 per 100,000 population) (Figure 4) and about 15 times that of non-Hispanic white males (2.6 per 100,000 population); at current levels of incarceration a black male in the United States today has greater than a 1 in 4 chance of going to prison during his lifetime, while a Hispanic male has a 1 in 6 chance and a white male has a 1 in 23 chance of serving time. That has nothing to do with their locale (suburbs); nothing to do with my education, their education or career choices. It is the aftermath of what historians tastefully describe as “the peculiar institution,” of the antebellum South, as with South Africa’s Apartheid, based on pigmentation, its wages and legacy. What happened to Trayvon is the unspoken nightmare; the uttered prayer each night, Psalms and Glossolalia. We do not have the luxury, or security to be blithely skeptic or agnostic. The slaughter of male children by Pharaoh and Herod are not biblical illustrations, but an evidential, everyday concern.

All I ask, all WE ask: is to be considered not as a threat, but for our potential.

Related links:

BlackAmericaWeb
TheGrio
TheRoot

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Evil Walks. Part 5.

Sitting at a table in the dark corner of a quiet north side bar, Joe Briggs always thought of himself as a tough guy. Even yet, a stylish tough guy. Dressed in his brown alligator skin cowboy boots, black designer blue jeans, and a tight black, short sleeved t-shirt to show off his muscular arms the twenty five year old black male always thought of himself as the toughest and meanest drug dealer to ever hit the streets of Pittsburgh. That is, until his competition started to move in and have him out numbered and out gunned. Having no real friends to depend on for back up Joe found himself in a vulnerable situation as he was dealing with his turf war against his rival, Willie Slater and his crew. Joe would have no problem if he had the chance to deal with Slater in a one on one situation. But even if he did manage to kill Slater He would still have to deal with retribution from the members of his crew. Joe did not like being in the vulnerable situation of having to look over his shoulder out of fear of being taken out by an enemy.Joe was used to instilling fear in others. Not experiencing fear for himself. But This night Joe had a plan to change all that. A plan to make himself into an unstoppable force. And that plan depended upon the person who was sitting on the other side of the table. A mysterious figure who was dressed in black pants tucked into his black knee high boots. He was wearing a black long sleeved shirt and necktie. His black gloved hands were resting on the table. He was wearing a black hooded cape. Sitting in the dark corner the hood of his cape was blending in with the shadows and prevented Joe from seeing any features of this person’s face. But Joe did not have to see this person’s face in order to know who he was. This was someone that Joe made a special visit here to see. This was the Sandman.Joe cleared his throat before speaking. “So you’re him. You’re the Sandman.”“The one and only,” was the Sandman’s reply.Joe grinned. “I bet you get a lot of people coming to you thinking that you’re full of crap. That you’re fake. You know. Skeptics and doubters.“Yeah. I get a lot of skeptics right off the bat. But then when you think about it, they’re the ones who seek me out. And they never walk away. So they’re the ones who are full of crap.”Joe laughed. “I hear you. But I’m not like that. You see, I’m a big believer in supernatural things. Magic, ghosts, demons. And when I saw your ad on the internet I knew right from the start that you’re the one who can help me with my problem.”The Sandman crossed his arms against his chest. “And what problem would that be?”“The problem with my competition,” Joe explained. “I like to think of myself as a big dog on the street. When I came around nobody even looked at me the wrong way. I always got what I wanted and took what I wanted. I put down anybody who would come between me and whatever I wanted. Or threatened my operation. But then I’m man enough to admit that once in a while another big dog comes around. So you know what I need in a situation like this?”“A flea collar?”“You’re kidding. Right?” Joe asked. “No. I need to show the other dog that no matter how big he thinks he is or how many of his buddies he has backing him up, I’m still the big dog on the street that he doesn’t want to mess with.”“Ok. So I take it that you want to be the rottweiler to the other guy’s beagle. Am I correct?” asked the Sandman.Joe returned a nod. “Yeah. That’s a great way to put it.”The Sandman continued. “And I understand why you’d want to stay on top. After all, you’ve worked hard to get to where you are right now. Even though you’ve left a bit of collateral damage along the way.”“Collateral damage?”“Why sure. Look at what happened last year when you did that drive by shooting with that guy in Homestead. You wounded your target. But you did manage to kill a lady who was crossing the street in the process.”Joe began to feel nervous upon hearing the Sandman reveal that past incident. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”“Sure you do,” replied the Sandman in a jovial manner. “Or maybe you just forgot. Or what about that time when you were involved in another shooting a few months after that. That was the one where you were gunning for this other guy. He was sitting in his car with his sister. She was, what? seventeen? You fired seven shots, missed the guy, but put three bullets in her head.”Joe’s nervousness began to increase. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I mean. I…”“And don’t forget what happened just last month when you were in that gun fight on the street corner in the East Liberty section of town. You and that other guy really went at it. In fact, you were both so into it with each other that you didn’t notice the girl pushing the baby carriage who got between you two. Your opponent got away. But lucky for her you only managed to put a bullet in her shoulder.”Joe was now so nervous that he began to fidget in his seat. Dammit. How the hell does this guy know all this? he wondered.“What’s the problem, Joe? You’re squirming around in your seat,” said the Sandman. “You have to go to the bathroom? Or maybe you’ve got a bout of nervous guilt.”Joe was no longer nervous. After hearing that comment by the Sandman he now became angered. “Nervous? Me? Hell no! I don’t get nervous. I make other people nervous. And besides, that little witch with the baby carriage shouldn’t have been in the way.”“Yeah. You’re right. It was her fault that she got shot.”This guy is some kind of first class smart ass, thought Joe. I should walk my ass outta here. But I need him. “So ok. Are we gonna make a deal?”“That’s why I’m here,” the Sandman told Joe. “And if you read my ad then you pretty much know how I operate.”“Yeah,” replied Joe. “You want one of my dreams or nightmares and then you’ll grant me a wish. Ok. I got one for you. I remember this nightmare I had last week. I’m running down through the woods with my girlfriend, Brenda. Maybe I’d better make that my ex-girlfriend. Anyway, we’re both running through the woods and we’re being chased by a pack of dogs. Big black dogs. Maybe wolves.”“Dogs, wolves. You didn’t bother to check the closing credits to make sure?” asked the Sandman.Joe ignored the Sandman’s comment and continued. “We’re both running and these mean ass dogs are after us. We’re both ducking past trees and jumping over rocks to try to get away. But these brutes stay on our tails. And while we’re both running Brenda keeps lagging behind. Then we come to this creek. I’m about to jump in and swim across. Then I stop and take a look at Brenda. I take a long look into her eyes. Then I shove her back and she falls. Then I jump into the creek and swim across while the dogs jump on Brenda and start having her for lunch. As I’m swimming I keep hearing her screaming and calling out my name. Joe. Joe. But I keep swimming and I don’t look back. Even when I make it to the other side I still don’t look back. Then I woke up. What do you think?”“No wonder Brenda’s your ex. But that sounds pretty descent. I’ll take it. So now, how can I help you with your little problem?”Joe stood up. “The way I see it, I’m still the top dog on the streets. But the problem is that Willie Slater and his boys have got me outnumbered. The odds against me are seven to one. Even I can’t take on odds like that unless I’ve got an edge. And the best edge that I can think of to send a message to Slater and any other jackass out there who thinks he wants to mess with me is to be immortal. I want to live forever.”Joe waited and watched the dark figure of the Sandman sitting in the chair with his arms still folded against his chest. For a moment there was silence between the two. Then the Sandman gave out a short laugh.“What’s so funny?” Joe asked.“You want to live forever,” replied the Sandman. “I haven’t heard that one in a while.”“So you’ve done it before?”“Yeah. And I think that it’s a really, really stupid idea. With your shooting record maybe you‘d be better off wishing for contact lenses.”“A stupid idea? Why?”“Because Humans being immortal goes against the natural order of things. You were given your limited life spans for a reason.”“So now what? You can’t or won’t do it?” Asked Joe.“Oh, I can do it. After all. you’re a paying customer. If that’s what you really want then you’ve got it. But I’m just saying. It’s a really, really stupid idea.”For a brief moment Joe was silent. Wondering what he should say next. Then he asked, “So you’ll do it? You’ll really make me immortal?”The Sandman held out his hand to Joe. “It’s already done.”It’s done? Joe thought. He looked down and felt his hands over his chest. Then he looked back at the Sandman.“You did it? I’m immortal? Really? I don’t feel any different.”“What did you expect? Your crouch to catch on fire?”Joe looked himself over again. Then he smiled and looked back at the Sandman. He laughed. “I’m immortal!” he blared out with a broad smile on his face. “I’m immortal!” he cried out again. He turned and faced the other patrons who were sitting at the bar and the other tables and shouted out. “You little bugs hear that? I’m immortal! Me! Joe Briggs! I’m not just Joe Briggs. I’m big, badass Joe Briggs! Anybody here want to take me on?”There were no replies from the other patrons. They all remained silent as they stared back at Joe.Joe looked back at the Sandman. He laughed again. “Thanks Sandman. I can’t wait to find Slater and his gang of maggots. Wait until they see me now.”“Go get em, killer,” the Sandman returned. “Show no mercy.”Show no mercy? yeah, right, thought an ecstatic Joe. He laughed a final time. Then he walked away from the table and out of the bar.Joe wasted no time getting into his black hummer and driving to Pittsburgh’s Hazelwood section where he could find Willie Slater and his gang. Joe drove around the streets for several minutes until he spotted Slater’s white car parked in front of the Starlight Lounge. There was a small crowd of people gathered in front of the establishment. Among them Joe recognized a tall black male in his late twenties, wearing white sneakers, blue jeans, and a black shirt. His chief rival, Willie Slater. Slater was holding a bottle of beer in his hand while engaged in a conversation with a young black woman in a red dress. Standing at the left and right were young black and white men that Joe also recognized as members of Slater’s crew. They were also drinking beers while having laughter and cheerful conversations with young women. Looks like I’m going to have to break up the party, Joe thought. He circled around the block and then parked his hummer across the street from the lounge.Joe got out of his hummer and looked down at the .9 MM pistol that was tucked into his waistband. Then with full confidence in his newly acquired power he strode over to confront Slater. Joe only managed to get halfway across the street before Slater spotted him. Slater turned his attention from the woman and pointed at Joe.“Look at this. Look who’s crashing the party,” Slater blared out. The other men turned their attention to Joe.Joe stopped in the middle of the street and held out his arms in proud defiance. “What the hell are you gonna do about it? What the hell do you think you can do?”Slater laughed. “Are you lost or something? Did you get a flat tire? You want a battery jump? Those are the only reasons why I think you’d be stupid enough to come here.”“Stupid? Oh I’m not stupid,” Joe shouted back. “I’m not the one who doesn’t know what he’s messing with.”“Is that a fact?” said Slater. Taking a step forward. “Who the hell are you all of a sudden? Superman or something?”Joe laughed at that notion. “Superman? Superman aint’ got nothing on me.”To prove that point Joe drew the pistol out of his waistband and took aim at Slater. Slater was quick to push the woman aside and then duck behind his car. The other women in the area screamed and scattered while the men drew their guns and ducked down. Joe took aim at Slater’s car and squeezed the trigger. His two shots shattered the car’s driver’s side window. He turned to the left and fired a shot at a man hiding behind a black car. Shattering it’s back window.Joe turned back to Slater’s car. “Hey Slater! Come on out! Are you scared of me?” he shouted. His gun hand moved to the right and he fired at a blue car parked next to Slater’s. Two bullets bored holes into the car’s trunk. “Come on out, Slater! Meet the indestructible man!”Slater responded by firing a shot from behind his car that struck Joe directly in his abdomen. Joe felt the strong pressure of the bullet ripping through his body. He took a step back. Then there was pain. Followed by the moist sensation of flowing blood.“What the hell?” Joe gasped out.A second shot rang out. A bullet tore through Joe’s right thigh. He shouted out in pain and folded over. Now several more shots were fired. Joe staggered back towards his hummer and returned fire at his adversaries. The pain in Joe’s thigh began to grow worse with each step that he took. He was forced to limp towards his hummer while turning to blindly shoot back at the men who were trying to kill him. Two more bullets struck Joe’s right thigh. They caused him to once again cry out in pain. As did the bullet that struck his left shoulder.Joe stumbled and fell onto the street. While laying on his stomach he managed to lift his arm and fire off two more shots at Slater’s car. The shots continued to ring out. Bullets were striking the pavement around Joe. One of them hit his left leg. Again Joe cried out. A quick thought flashed through his mind. This aint’ supposed to happen. I’m immortal.Joe aimed his gun at the black car on the left and fired two shots. He then took aim at the blue car and fired one shot. Gotta get the hell outta here, was his next frantic thought. Using every once of power that his left arm could muster Joe began to pull himself towards the hummer. He tried to use his legs to help push himself along but the pain from his gunshot wounds were too great. He yelped out with each movement of his body. Blood from his wounded thighs began to pour our from the legs of his jeans, leaving a trail as he was dragging himself forward.Joe managed to reach his hummer. But then he realized that the driver’s side door was too high for him to reach while he was laying on the street. He tried to stand up on his wounded legs, but the pain would not permit it. He reached his left hand up to the door’s handle and felt a bullet tearing through it’s muscle and tearing and shattering it’s ulna.Joe pulled his arm back down. Gritting his teeth in pain. I can’t take much more of this. Too much pain. I’m immortal. This aint’ supposed to happen.Since Joe could not climb up into his hummer his next best option was to drag himself around it and take cover. Joe fired two more shots at Slater’s car. In instant retaliation several more shots were fired back at him. His left elbow was growing sore as he used his wounded arm to drag himself along. As he approached the front of the hummer the vehicle was being riddled with bullets. Two more bullets drilled into Joe’s back. Joe let out a grunt in pain but kept moving. His entire body was in pain from his bullet wounds. His torso and legs were wet with his own blood. His even his breathing was painful.With great effort Joe managed to drag himself around the hummer. Taking heavy breaths he stopped to rest for a moment. But Slater and his crew were still shooting at him. He could hear their bullets striking the opposite side of the hummer. Then after a minute the shooting stopped. It was then that Joe realized a minute was all he would have left to live. He was outnumbered, heavily wounded and laying helpless. It would not take long for Slater and his men to close in on him. Joe was in desperate need of help. And to his mind there was only one individual that he could turn to.“This aint’ right!” Joe shouted. “This aint’ supposed to happen! Help me! Help me, Sandman! Please help me!”With the sound of a faint whirr the hummer’s passenger’s side window rolled down. Joe looked up and saw a figure wearing a black hood facing him. Between the darkness and the hood Joe could not see this individual’s face. But he knew who it was.“Sandman. Help me! You gotta help me.”“Sure Joe. What’s the problem?” the Sandman asked in a casual manner.Joe could not believe that he asked such a question. “What’s the problem? are you blind? Look at me. I’m getting my ass shot off.”“That’s usually the risk you take when you enter a gun battle,” the Sandman told him.“But this aint’ supposed to happen. We had a deal and you lied to me!”“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold your horses. I don’t lie to anybody.”“The hell you didn’t!” Joe bellowed back. “You were supposed to make me immortal. But look at me. I’m dying here. I want a damn refund.”“You want a refund? Where the hell do you think you’re at? K-Mart? I don’t give refunds.”“Well then you still cheated me, you jerk. I wanted to be immortal. And I got shot up.”"Ok, Joe. It’s time for me to give you a lesson in arcane biology 101. Class is now in session. You asked me to make you immortal. Not indestructible. You chose the former. Not the latter. I gave you what you asked for. I made you immortal. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t be hurt. And don’t forget that I told you this was a really, really stupid idea. Is any of this sinking in?”Joe was about to answer when he heard Slater’s voice calling out in from across the street. “Benny. Joey. Cross the street at the right. Darnell, Shawn. You go left. Close in on him. Get him.”They’re coming for me. I’m trapped, thought Joe. “You hear that? I’m trapped like a cockroach. I’m trapped. Help me. Please help me.”“Are you going to cry? It’s really embarrassing watching you tough guy types cry.”Fearful for his life, Joe was indeed close to tears. “I don’t wanna die. Please. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die.”“You’re not going to die, Joe. I fixed that. You’re just going to lay there and bleed. But you won’t die.”“I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take it. You gotta get me out of here.”“You want out? Sure, Joe. But it will cost you.”“What? You want me to tell you about one of my dreams? Now?”“Good a time as any,” the Sandman told him.“Can’t you get me out of here and let me pay you later?”“Excuse me, Joe. I think I owe you an apology. Somehow I must have given you the impression that I’m running a charity.”“Ok! Ok!” Joe was running out of time. He had to think of a dream to give to the Sandman before Slater’s men closed in on him. Then one came to his mind. “Alright. I had this one two weeks ago. I saw myself floating someplace. It was all dark. But I could still see myself. And I couldn’t move. Then I started falling. I kept falling but I couldn’t scream or do anything because I still couldn’t move. Then I kept falling until I woke up. Is that one good enough?”“Typical, Oh my God. Help me. I’m falling dream. So generic. That’s sort of like having a $50 bill at a resturaunt and paying it with a bag Full of pennies. But it will do.”“Then get me the hell out of here!” Joe bellowed.He heard a male voice to his left. “There he is. I got him.” Joe looked over and saw a young man had just crossed the street several feet away. Joe could see him aiming his gun. Then there was a loud pop and a brief flash. Joe then felt the horrible pain of a bullet penetrating his face, just above his nose. Joe screamed. He remained conscious, but his vision went black. Joe pointed his gun hand and fired three shots back. Not sure if he was able to hit anything at this point. The blood from this new wound began to flow down Joe’s face and into his mouth. The coppery taste of his own blood was nauseating.“Please get me out of here! Please get me out of here! Please!” Joe pleaded to the Sandman.Joe heard the Sandman’s voice in response. “Sure thing, Joe. Anyplace special you want to go?”“Anywhere! Anywhere! Anywhere!” was Joe’s loud and hysterical answer.“Ok. I hope you’ve brushed up on your Spanish.”Spanish? To Joe’s mind that can only mean one thing. Mexico. Joe listened. It was quiet. The shooting had stopped. Did he do it? Am I gone?“Somebody! Somebody help me!” Joe called out.Joe heard voices. The voices of several young men. All of them speaking in a Spanish dialect. Mexico. I’m really in Mexico. I need a Mexican doctor.Joe listened as the voices grew louder. Then he felt the pressure of a foot pressing down on his back. Then someone was prying the gun out of his hand. While that was happening he felt hands digging into his pockets. His wallet was taken from out of his right back pocket. He felt his cell phone being taken from his left hip pocket.“Hey! Hey! What the hell are you doing? That’s mine! Give me back my stuff!”Joe heard the young Spanish voices now laughing. The sound of this angered him.“Give my back my stuff! What are you? Kids? Give it back or I’m gonna kick your ass. Whoever you are!”Joe received a reply. Even though he could not see the foot he felt the impact of an unmistakable kick to his face. Joe felt several other feet kicking and stomping his body. All the while the young Spanish voices continued to laugh. Then enduring all the pain that he could Joe passed out.When Joe awakened he had no idea how long he was unconscious. But he was still blind. He felt the soft cushion of a bed beneath him and wondered where he was. A soft female voice with a Spanish accent told him that he was in a small clinic in a village called San Vista. Located in Argentina. Joe was shocked to hear this. Argentina was a far cry from Mexico. Joe learned that the female voice was that of a nurse who was working at the clinic. She told Joe that he was found laying in the street. Badly wounded and bloodied. Someone had brought him here to the clinic where their doctor made his best effort to repair his gunshot wounds. But there was bad news for Joe. Very bad. The nurse told him that the damage from his wounds were severe. The bullet that he had taken to his face had damaged the optic nerves to both Joes eyes. He was now permanently blind. A bullet had severed Joes spine. That damage left him paralyzed from the waist down. Joe was shocked to hear this dire news. He was not only blind, but he will never walk again.At first Joe began to cry at his dire situation. Then he started to laugh. Not a laughter of joy. But a laughter of insanity.He was now blind, unable to walk, penniless, and thousands of miles away from home with no way to return. And to compound his problems Joe was immortal. He would live forever. Blind, unable to walk, and totally helpless. In the weeks ahead, after Joe’s injuries healed he was forced to leave the clinic. He was given a wheelchair and sent out on his own. And so Joe Briggs. The big dog on the street, was destined to spend an unending life living as a blind, homeless beggar in a wheelchair in a small village in Argentina. But at least Joe had that edge that over the other beggars here. He was still immortal.
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The Burden of Wealth

One of the most recent civilizations to join the Hegemony, the Plutarchs, a group of sentients from a highly advanced world, upon discovering the existence of extraterrestrial civilizations insisted on becoming a member of said civilizations. The Plutarchs (our name for them, that was the closest translation that worked in polite company, their actual translation was "the owners of everything") were insistent they could improve galactic commerce by bringing their ideas to the community of worlds. 


They insisted their way of dealing with wealth, its management and development, mastered over millennia ensured the furthering of progress, improved innovation and inspired their populace to work harder than ever with new levels of prosperity for the civilization. And while there was poverty, it was an accepted part of the lifestyle of their planet and the people who were poor understood it was their lot in life. It simply couldn't be helped. Poverty was a natural side-effect of wealth and knowledge of that fact ensured wealth moved where it needed to be in society. 


The Hegemony tended to not involve itself in the politics of worlds unless those worlds wanted to join the galactic community.  The Hegemony was less than happy with the social structures and were absolutely sure they wanted nothing to do with the Plutarchs financial structures since the Plutarchs, for all of their wealth had failed to handle issues on their own planet to the standards of the Council of Worlds. While the Hegemony watched the Plutarchs and Citizens relationships, the Plutarchs insisted they should be allowed to join the Hegemony and would not take no for an answer. After a decade of watching the planet, the Hegemonic Council's solution was a unique one. 

The Council's decision was one that did not change the inherent nature of the planet. Since every Citizen was fitted upon birth, with an automatic asset management account, which tracked their wealth and assets and assigned them a numerical value, indicating their wealth, the Council decided to build on that idea. Every citizen was fitted with a gravitic torc. A beautiful piece of jewelry that could not be removed by local scientists. The torc would be linked to the databases of the world banks and would reflected the wealth of the person, the richer they were, the more affected by the force of gravity they would become. 


Once the system was installed (and it took some time, the Hegemony insisted on hiring local workers and paying them a galactic Citizen's wages for their efforts) it would be active on all one billion of the Citizens. It was explained how the technology would work and Plutarchs who were extremely wealthy would be given a month to decide how to organize their funds. Most didn't seem to understand how the devices would work and were unhappy with how the Hegemony decided to go about their indoctrination. 

The Council tried to explain how the galaxy was a big place and worlds who wanted the benefits of the Hegemony, a community of over sixty thousand inhabited planets and millions of other kinds of biomes, artificial, virtual, chemical or mechanical, slavery of any kind was frowned upon by responsible members of the Hegemony. No race could trade, sell, or interact with the Hegemony if they engaged in slavery or slave-like conditions. The state of Citizens on the Plutarchs world easily qualified as a form of wage slavery and indentured servitude. 


Citizens were unable to own property unless they were already born into wealth. If a Citizen managed somehow to become wealthy enough to afford property, they paid three times the current rate as a form of entrance fee into the Plutarch society. Most of the time, Citizens were paid only what was necessary for them to meet their monthly allowance of resources. The net result was, at the end of the month, Citizens had a net worth of zero. Sometimes it was less. If a Citizen had a net value of less than zero, they were allowed to use debt management mechanisms to keep track of that debt. 


Unfortunately, once a Citizen fell deeply into debt, they were usually unable to get out of debt and interest rates ensured they would be driven to penal slavery, either by failing to pay the interest which then criminalized their poverty and ensured they were sent to debtor's prisons to work off that debt being paid one tenth of their previous wages. Citizens sent to prison, died there and their debt was divided among their surviving relatives. 


Citizens could be educated, but only one tenth of one percent could afford to do it without incurring new costs. Most were forced to get an education they could not afford and became part of a workforce that could only pay enough to keep their debt from growing, nothing more. Yes, even under these conditions, innovations, breakthroughs, developments continued to happen because people were desperate to escape their conditions. Most of those technologies were "developed" by the Plutarchs who paid their wages as work for hire, making sure the Citizen got to keep none of the funds created by their labors. 


As the month wound on, most Plutarchs ran about trying to figure out how to maneuver their wealth into accounts that would make their money appear on paper to belong to someone other than themselves. Others made corporations, claimed those corporations were persons and divested themselves of their wealth. Normal Citizens hearing the news of their impending joining of the Hegemony were unable to muster much enthusiasm, especially when the Hegemony indicated it would make no changes to the status quo of the civilization. 


The gravitic web was established one week before activation of the Wealth Management System and the Citizens who established it complained nothing would change for them and the Hegemony was simply a greater version of the structure of their world and it was simply preparing Citizens for their eventual enslavement as members of the galactic community. Most of those technicians were paid a tidy bonus to establish the gravitic web and were pleased to see the Hegemony was far less stingy than the Plutarchs of their world and they had better work hours as servants of the Hegemony, so they surmised it might not be as difficult when they became Citizens of the Hegemony. 


A great fanfare preceded the Hegemonic Council's arrival on the Plutarch's world for their acceptance ceremony. The gravitic web was activated at the same time as the treaty was signed. The signer of the treaty and ninety percent of all Plutarchs died instantly, crushed under the weight of their wealth. Once activated, it could not be easily shut down. The Council retired to quarters and would wait for the next representatives of the Plutarchs to appear. 


The Hegemony's computers did not accept prevarications used by the Plutarchs for generations to pretend they were less wealthy than they appeared to be. If money could be tied to you in some fashion, no matter how tenuous, it was and the burden of that wealth was yours. The remaining nine percent were hospitalized and unable to move until they actually divested themselves of their wealth. Most died a few months later bowed under their ever-increasing wealth since their engines of prosperity favored wealth flowing uphill faster than they could figure out how to get rid of it. By the end of the month, the Plutarchs, down to the last entity were dead. The remaining Citizens, once a new governing body was elected, met with the Council and decided they would leave the Hegemony's gift running as a reminder of where they came from. 


The remaining Citizens reformed many of the rules that allowed the Plutarchs to exist in the first place. Debts were forgiven, prisons were opened, education became a service provided by the government. Prosperity would be localized, and local Citizens were respected no matter where they lived on their planet. The new reforms made it possible to be wealthy but it would be up to everyone to ensure egregious disregard for the system could never return. Gravity would handle the rest that tried. 


Yes, there are rich Citizens today. You can tell them from the occasional shuffle of their step or their slightly bowed backs, tastefully dressed with very comfortable shoes. Most accept that burden gracefully and work diligently to ensure they never grow wealthier faster than they can return to the truly innovative, intelligent and capable Citizenry what is theirs, dignity in work and a prosperity equal to their effort.

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Trayvon_McCallas_InvertThe hunt and murder of Trayvon Martin seems like a fictionalized scene from a teen dystopian novel similar to the Hunger Games. The only problem is that this scene is real.  I’ve been keeping up with the news on this case and I am both horrified and enraged.  My feelings stem from two fronts, one because I am Black and the other because I am a mother.  The injustice boils.

Visit:http://www.aliciamccalla.com/blog/87-trayvon-20-a-creative-science-fiction-response- 

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Bottoms Up!...



The story goes: Donald A. Glaser developed the idea for the bubble chamber - a means of tracking atomic particles (alpha, mu mesons) staring at a bottle of beer. Or, er several bottles of beer at the University of Michigan Student Union. If you're looking for the physicists... He mentions beer as well as Ginger Ale and soda (I guess he was "designated driver") in his Nobel Prize speech.

Now...it appears Beaujolais helps with superconductivity. Looks like they had several trials...

And, you thought physics was boring? Remember, soda for the DD's.

 

Physics arXiv: Red Wine, Tartaric Acid, and the Secret of Superconductivity

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Authors4Trayvon

Hello Everyone,

Those of you who know me know I couldn’t allow the Trayvon Martin tragedy to go by without opening my big mouth and doing something about it. I belong to a group called All4One Authors who are a co-op of authors who mentor, share resources and promote each other. Anywhooooo, we are organizing a fundraiser and are inviting authors to join us. In short  April 1-7, 2012, participating authors will donate 17% of their book sells (eBook and print) to the Martin family or give a monetary donation of at least $17. Please visit the website http://www.Authors4Trayvon.com for full details on how to participate, but please DO NOT give out the website to readers. I’m still adding authors and updating. We’ll be sending out the press release and starting promotion of the event in a few days. Stay tuned and I hope you decide to join us. If you know of other authors who may want participate, please feel free to share this information with them, but again, please do not release the link to readers yet.

 

Thank you

 

Deatri King-Bey

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