Lamiarum Unguenta (Witches Unguent): By boiling (a certain fat) in a copper vessel, they get rid of its water, thickening what is left after boiling and remains last. Then they store it, and afterwards boil it again before use: with this, they mix celery, aconite, poplar leaves and soot. Then they smear all the parts of the body, first rubbing them to make them ruddy and warm and to rarify whatever had been condensed because of cold. When the flesh is relaxed and the pores opened up, they add the fat (or the oil that is substituted for it) - so that the power of the juices can penetrate further and become stronger and more active, no doubt. And so they think that they are borne through the air on a moonlit night to banquets, music, dances and the embrace of handsome young men of their choice. -- Giovan Battista Della Porta. From De Miraculis Rerum Naturalium, Book II, Chapter XXVI (1558 AD)
“Hurry up, girls. The bobbies are on their way.” Margaret’s glamour had worn off as she walked into the door, slamming it behind her. Her hideous hook of a nose arched out over her wide mouth, distorted by her decades of constant magic use.
She was beautiful once, with wide blue eyes and rosy cheeks, those days long behind her, her flaxen hair now knotty wisps covering her now sunken eyes and hollowed cheekbones. Her dress, ragged, something taken from the body of an unfortunate who made a fine tincture last year.
“You know better than to rush me, Maggie. Flying potion isn’t something you rush to get done. The fat has to be rendered just right.” Elswidth was standing over a caldron in the middle of the common area, with a strange arrangement of bottles, beakers and piping winding around the room. She turned a tiny spigot as droplets of rendered fat fell into the dark fluid in the ceramic bowl he held in her other hand. “Ah, such a sweet scent.” The room was in complete disarray, tables and chairs lie broken. Scraps of clothing and dark spots fleck the dimly lit walls. Elswidth’s eyes reflected the poor candlelight like a cat’s.
“Was that Malcolm?” Margaret asked? She sniffed conspicuously, eyes narrowing in recognition.
Elswidth looked over her shoulder, “why yes it is, how did you know?” Her cats eyes open wide, drinking in every scrap of light. Margaret’s dirty shift and shuffling gait stirred up dust in the hall, each speck twinkling in the light of the full moon from the common room’s skylight. Margaret’s squat and wide form filled the narrow corridor leading into the common room.
“I’d know that sweet, buttery scent anywhere. Did you save any for me?”
“Why would I do that? How else did you expect to make it to Prague unless I used all of him. Look at you, fat as a cow. You would be lucky to make it halfway there.” Elswidth spit on the floor and kicked a dirty shoe into the fire under the caldron.
“Now, sisters, there’s no reason to fight. We have had a good time in London. It has been very, very good to us, hasn’t it?” Selene came down the stairs, staff in hand, followed by three brooms and a couple of old bags festooned with strange locks that resembled demonic mouths. They opened and closed at random, snapping at each other.
Selene was young as witches go, barely a century and looked it. Still lithe, full and sensuous, she filled her sisters with both a hunger and an envy that was easy to see. Her dress, slick, diaphanous, showed her ample bosom and wide hips and it clung possessively to her, looking almost alive. A closer look, might notice its fleshy tone, it silky texture like the skin of a small child or perhaps several small children. Then you might look away.
Her eyes, dark, unpleasant, and cold, had the look of a reptile, replete with slitted eyes and flickering lids. Even with this disturbing feature, her face was like cream, smooth, flawless, the result of bathing in the blood of innocents.
“Yes, Selene, it has been good to us. We must thank Jack for inviting us. Orphanages aplenty, homeless vagrants, the sick and dying who work in the black smoke filled streets of Whitechapel have made our work all too easy.” Elswidth smiled as she thought of how many young ones this orphanage had when they came to work in it nearly a year ago. There were nearly fifty children whose parents died from consumption. Vowing to find them homes, the three women, with impeccable references, set out to reduce the population of the orphanage through what they claimed was a process of finding the children homes in neighboring countries. A third of the children were actually shipped out of the country and were never seen again. The remainder, too weak and sickly to be of any true value laboring anywhere else were rendered for their essential elements.
Margaret called her bag and broom from Selene’s magical wake. As her bag approached, she noticed one of the clasps was unmoving. Grabbing her broom, she hit the bag repeatedly and each blow opened one of the mouths until they were all howling. Once they were all open the bag also opened and she counted the tiny flasks inside. One was missing. Gripping her broom tightly she turned to Selene and lightning leapt from her eyes.
Selene turned at the last second and interposed her staff between the lightning and herself, deflecting it into the room. “Sister, you seem upset?” Her smile belied her pretense of innocence.
“You stole it, didn’t you. The only thing I wanted from this entire trip.”
“It isn’t fair you would keep such a thing to yourself.”
“You could have made your own. You are always going on about how superior your magic is.”
“But it’s so much easier to let you do the heavy lifting, for me.”
“Stop it! Both of you. Don’t you hear what’s going on outside?” Elswidth was stirring the last of the rendered fat into the blood-red elixir in the caldron. “Handle that. This will take at least another ten minutes to be ready.”
“Yes, Sister.”
Selene and Margaret stand still for a moment, and a gentle mist slowly forms at their feet. A slow groaning and creaking begins and the house shudders imperceptibly. The crowd outside the house feels a sinister dread and becomes quiet without knowing why.
Margaret wipes her hand over her face and her glamour of beauty is restored. She looks prim and proper, a headmistress of an orphanage. Selene’s dress of awful flesh, appears instead as a proper frock of black and white satin and she looks like a young woman in the prime of her life.
Margaret opens the door as the nervous bobbie was about to knock. He was very young, a face barely used to shaving. He sported a stylish mustache in order to appear older. His uniform fit snugly; likely a hand-me-down from one of the older constables. His movements and mannerisms indicate he was still not quite used to be obeyed.
“Miss Margaret, I am relieved to find you here. I am empowered to arrest you and bring you in for questioning regarding the murder of Malcolm Little, one of the last of your children to be seen here. Your neighbors accuse you of murder most foul.” His head momentarily looked back at the crowd, as if taking strength from their presence. He could hear the sounds of whistles in the distance and seemed relieved that other police would be along momentarily.
Margaret smile was a well-practiced thing, design to disarm and charm, a kind of smile you can only get with decades of experience evading those who might do you harm. “Constable, that is simply preposterous. Malcolm is here with us this very evening. He will be leaving tonight with us to go to Prague. We have done exactly as we promised to empty this particular orphanage of these wards of the state. We have removed the burden they placed on this community, finding homes for them all. Come inside and see for yourself.”
“No, we shouldn’t have anyone with suspicions to have any further doubts. You are all invited into our sanctuary to see what we have wrought for the children of this part of town.” Selene’s smile beamed over the crowd of ten or twelve onlookers and they slowly moved toward the house. The bobby came into the house past Margaret and saw a well kept, antechamber and hallway that emptied into a common room, with clean and serviceable if not well cared for tables and chairs. Elswidth stood there with a young lad of ten or eleven and the rest of their bags and cloaks.
“Satisfied, constable?” Margaret voice was less pleasant than before.
“I am sorry I doubted, but I had to be sure.” The constable brow was furrowed as if he were puzzled by something but wasn't sure what it was. Then he realized what it was. Where was their carriage. Surely, if they were leaving tonight, they would require transport.
Before he could ask, he was interrupted by the honeyed sound of Selene’s voice. She had ushered them into the common room and was now standing behind the group. “Such a dutiful gentleman and conscientious citizenry should be rewarded, don't you think, Sisters?” Elswidth eyes flickered with mischief. She held out her hand and her broom flew into her grip.
“Wha” was all the constable could mutter before the room was suddenly ablaze. Selene’s hands were contorted into the ritual signs of flames. Elswidth’s hand gestured with the primal sign of fear, overwhelming fear; coupled with the burgeoning realization of what they were seeing, the townsfolks were all but paralyzed, their vocal cords unable to even tremble, their bladders voided. Speechless, one made the sign of the cross.
Margaret reached under her dress and pulled forth a wicked dagger; before the constable could speak again, a crescent of silver flashed in the full moonlight and his blood filled the very air, splashing the frozen townsfolk in this crimson bounty. Her clawed hand formed a binding of hideous strength; without touching him, she held him up in the air as if he were light as a feather. Carving his beating heart from his chest, she dropped his body onto the floor as her demon bag ran over to her its mouths open and eagerly accepting the steaming heart.
“Am I forgiven, dear Margaret?” Selene walked past the now burning townspeople whose silent screams filled the house, joining in with those of the children who once lived there. The sounds seeping into the very walls.
“Of course, dearest Sister. The heart of Jack the Ripper was a one of a kind prize, but the heart of an honest man and a dozen fools is a close second.” Margaret was still angry but the heart of the constable would make a fine youth reagent, and the bound souls of the townspeople could be harvested and distilled for their next disguises they would need in Prague.
They were going to be disguised as artists and live among the art community. They would need young and beautiful bodies. There were several to chose from in the room. She would forgive Selene, for now. She was too powerful to confront today, but Margaret was a patient witch. It was how she caught Jack the Ripper. She would catch Selene off-guard, sooner or later. Elswidth pets her demon bag and packs it onto her broom. Her eyes reflecting the dying embers of the locals, she cackles to her sisters, “Prague awaits.”
As the roof collapses in the terrible fire, people outside the house trying to keep the conflagration from spreading, see three shadows flicker past the bilious moon, the flash of silver buckle mouths opening and closing in its pearlescence. Only once the three of them are gone, do the screams of the damned bleed from the burning ruin and resound for hours in the alleys of Whitechapel.
Flying Potion © Thaddeus Howze 2012, All Rights Reserved
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Having purchased Nelomaxwell's comic and read it over the weekend. I have decided to put up a review here.
So here goes 
Hierophants issue 1
Publisher: Nelommaxwell comics
Writer: Ra'chaun Anton Rogers
Art: Kurtis Hamilton
Synopsis: Following the unfortunate shooting of an African American young man by the police, racial tensions are reaching a boiling point in N.Y. Out of this conflict appears the Geist, the city's newest superhero who steps in to intervene before a full on riot begins. This first issue introduces us to the character, his civilian life. The people important to him and his views of the world, while also giving us glimpses of the greater world and legacy at work in the Geist's destiny. In parallel to this we see the personal conflicts experienced by one of the police officers working in the neighborhood where the Geist has suddenly appeared.
Thoughts on the story: This story starts out almost straight into action as the Geist jumps in to stop the riot and then moves along to setting up the character as his personal life. Overall this is a good first issue, it kept me interested the whole read and certainly left plenty of places where to go with future stories. I'd particularly like to see perhaps an issue down the road that focuses almost all on Officer Marcus as I enjoyed this portion of the introductory issue. Pacing of the story is good, narration takes it's time setting up the setting and characters while providing excitement to those interest in action. It leaves us on a cliffhanger that was well presented (thought honestly there, I'm pretty sure I know what's going on but I won't spoil for those that haven't read)
Thoughts on the art: The first thing I can say is that it is unlike almost anything I've read so for, that's a plus. Distinctive art is just another thing to make a good comic. It does look good. That being said, the style works very well for some panels. But others to me had issues with the balance between the casting of the shadows versus illuminated portions. Overall it's a good first impression, but the artist is still in a polishing phase, there's room for improvement but it's a good start.
Final Thoughts: I highly recommend everyone to perchase Nelom's comic. I found it enjoyable and worth the purchase, as a first issue it's got promise to make for a very good on going series. It's a first issue done right, it got me interested right on the first page and made me want to get the second issue.
Final verdict:
Story: 4 out of 5
Art: 3.5 out of 5
Buy this comic!
![[image]](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tCPQR3rN9oo/T5M_EruUsAI/AAAAAAAAACs/3vwjgvkv6wk/s320/Page_1.tif "[image]")
Good Day, Everyone!
Trash, my debut novel, is now available for your reading pleasure at Smashwords.com!
Here’s the links!
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/160029
Other options are:
Option #1: Amazon Kindle:
http://www.amazon.com/Trash-ebook/dp/B007X65DAG/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1337729143&sr=1-1
Option #2: Lulu.com:
http://www.lulu.com/shop/elizabeth-camali/trash/paperback/product-20068772.html
For free samples of my work go to:
Option #1: Author’s Den:
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewwork.asp?AuthorID=69807&id=51892
Option #2: Fiction Press:
Prologue/
They were riding the steam train again, sitting behind Ripple, the edges of their seats smudged with black and velvet. The train lurched to a stop, and the doors slid open.
Beyond was utter darkness.
“This is our stop!” Ripple shouted. Even as he spoke these words he had the queer feeling of time doubling over.
The Copper man leaped up and ran to the exit, Karla and Joseph at his heels. They jumped down and the metal doors slammed shut behind them.
Outside, the station's wood was rotted, the doors boarded up. The windows were dusty and smashed—the few remaining shards of glass, hanging like broken teeth. Ahead, the train disappeared into the fog.
“Hurry up!” Ripple shouted, “Or we'll be trapped here!”
Another wave of déjà vu washed over him, this one so strong it made him dizzy. Nevertheless he took off running past the train into the fog. A mist shrouded forest stood in the distance, and he sprinted toward it. Karla and Joseph followed.
Time slowed to a crawl. They moved in slow motion now—struggling through a syrupy wave of moments...seconds...minutes...
“Keep running!”
Joseph reached out and took Karla's hand.
And they began to change.
Ripple became a black wolf, his fur streaked with silver. Karla, a smaller dark lupine, Joseph, a wolf with burnt sienna fur—running through the towering redwoods, oaks and weeping willows.
Thin light pushed through the treetops and made splotchy patches at their feet. Mist floating in the air, thick and cloying.
Ripple vanished.
“What's happening!” Karla cried out, glancing wildly around.
Joseph took a few aimless steps forward, squeezing his head between his hands. Grandfather—! Grandfather where are you!”
The sound of approaching hoofs echoed through the forest. A creature ran toward them, weaving easily between the trees. From the waist up, she was a fetching Bronze woman of twenty or so odd years with sepia skin.
But her torso curved out into a burgundy mare's hindquarters, her hair curled about her shoulders, her small breasts cupped by a silver bustier.
The last time they'd seen a centaur, had been during the Time of Legend. Then the female centaur had been a Guardian.
But they sensed that this creature was no ally. An aura of malevolence floated about her, as cloying as the fog.
“Hello!” she said, her lashes fluttering prettily above her green eyes. “I haven't seen you here before. Are you lost?”
They stared at her. Joseph opened his mouth. For several seconds nothing came out. “We uh—my grandfather came in with us.” he stammered.
Her eyes glittered balefully. “You mean Ripple? Yes, I know where he is. He'll be staying with us now. And you have business elsewhere.”
“Wha-what are you saying?” Karla gasped moving closer to Joseph.
But he was melting away in her arms.
She screamed horribly—clutching at the floating flesh that was her lover.
The centaur galloped past her into the woods, her mocking laughter mixing with the Indigo woman's cries.
* * *
The New World awoke to a roaring wind, light blazed from the mirror—swallowing the planet—a churning, savage vortex. Tundra's inhabitants cried out, as their flesh bled from their bones like wet clay.
The world shuddered.
And was still.
Chapter 2/Stranger
Joseph came to on a carpeted floor and lifted his head to gaze at her. She stood with her back pressed against the wall, her face twisted in fear.
“Karla?”
She looked down at him: a slender, dark woman with a long face, high cheekbones and full lips. She was dressed in a sheer nightgown. Wavy tresses spilled over the Indigo woman’s shoulders.
“Who are you?”
He rose from the thick carpet: a tall, muscular man with reddish-brown skin. His thick hair
was gathered into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.
“I’m Joseph...”
“You called me 'Karla.' Why? That's not my name. I'm Sonya. Where did you come from?”
His eyes searched her face. “I don't know.”
Karla...The name was like a caress. It reminded him of a song—the words forgotten, but the melody etched upon his heart.
Joseph tore his eyes away from her and scanned the bedroom. To his right was a high bed with a canopy. A wardrobe sat beside it. Across from him, stood a vanity table and mirror. Filigreed lamps were arranged here and there about the room.
The furniture spoke to him of antiquity—of an older, bygone age. Yet above the vanity hung a triangular clock, full of visible cogs and dials and encased in metal. It was ticking loudly.
The Copper man looked behind him, at the tall mirror encased in a delicately carved frame.
“I think...I think I came from inside your mirror.”
Her eyes shot to the glass, and a curious mixture of fear and longing played over her face.
“From my mirror?” He nodded. “Ho-how did you do that?”
How indeed? “I’m not sure.”
BAM! BAM!
“It’s one of the servants! Hide there!” She pointed behind the bed.
Sonya cracked the door. A plumb face peered inside. “Yes, Elsie?
“Are you alright, mum?”
“I’m fine.”
“But I heard you scream!” Despite her humble demeanor, Elsie sounded annoyed not to know what was troubling Sonya, and not to be confided in. She pushed at the door—a polite but insistent way of trying to get inside.
The young woman put her weight against the door. “I had a nightmare.”
“Would you like me to stay with you?” Elsie said imploring; but the plea didn't reach her eyes, they were cold and hard.
“No. Goodnight.”
In the next moment, Sonya's face was above him. “You can get up, she’s gone now.” She turned away from him, pulled a robe from her dresser and slipped it on.
“You can’t stay here. Someone's bound to find you.” She picked up a huge candle from the vanity, and lit it. “I was just about to go downstairs for some hot chocolate and biscuits. Would you like some?”
He nodded. “Alright.” Sure. Why not? Your mirror spit me out and I don’t know who I am. You don’t know either. But yeah, I’d love to share some chocolate and biscuits. An ironic smile curled about his lips, as he followed her out of the room.
Sonya watched him out of the corner of her eye. I should just scream again and have him dragged out of here. But...I've seen him before.
They came out into a long hallway, and made their way to staircase that split the hall in half. The carpet was a deep wine color, and oil lamps were interspersed along the walls.
Paintings of citizens wearing top hats and derbies hung from the walls; some with high buttoned coats and collars, others with walking canes. Still others wore glass monocles, and dresses with cinched waists, bustles and petticoats.
Many also sported curious short metal tubes with gears, strapped to their waists. Those are firearms!
And at this, a sense of wrongness swept over him.
Joseph glimpsed more of the portraits across the stairwell. All at once he realized that he was dressed in a likewise fashion. He wore a jacket with wide lapels, a high collar shirt and stovepipe pants. But he had no weapon. And for this, he felt strangely grateful.
Downstairs, Sonya led him past the staircase, and to the right to the kitchen. While he sat at the wooden table, she rummaged about in the cabinet, sneaking glances at him as she did so. At length, she pulled down glass canister of chocolate and sugar, and set them beside the gas stove.
“Do you know what you were doing,” she asked, “you know just before?” He shook his head.
The Indigo woman turned a knob on the stove, and held the candle to the eye until the flame caught. She blew out the candle, poured water into a tin, coffee pot and put it on the unit to heat.
Sonya fished biscuits from the glass container on the table. “Well, you must remember something.”
Joseph leaned forward, his face twisted in concentration. “Very little... I remember being with you—well, somebody that looked like you. But I don't think we were here.”
Sonya gazed down at him for another long moment, then turned away, pouring hot water into two mugs and stirring chocolate and sugar into them.
“Come on,” she said, handing him one. “Let’s eat in the breakfast room, I can think better in there, and the servants are less likely to stumble across us.”
She led him back out into the hall, past the staircase into an adjacent alcove. They sat in the
low chairs, a small table between them. To their right, an entire wall had been crafted of glass.
Beyond it, he glimpsed an alien city.
Sonya sipped her chocolate. “You'll have to get out of here, you know. If my father finds you, he’ll turn you over to the enforcers.”
Joseph looked confused. “What's an enforcer?”
“The peacekeepers. They make sure we citizens don't break the law,” she smirked, “nobody can break any laws but them. If they detain you, they’ll stick you with an indentured family and keep you there—maybe for as long as ten years.”
I don't like the sound of that.
“Or they'll make you fight in the wars,” she went on, “After your service, municipal lets you start to pay your bond off. That could take another two years.”
“Sounds like slavery to me,” Joseph said dryly.
A hard smile curled about her lips. “Yeah, I guess it is. You got ID? Look in your jacket.”
He patted his coat. He pulled a folded parchment from his inside pocket.
“Let me see that,” Sonya unfolded it to reveal an ink drawing of him. Beneath it a calligraphy inscription read:
Joseph 22833
Race: Copper
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Black
Height: 6 feet 0”
Weight: 200
Profession: Artisan
The bottom of the page was stamped with the wax insignia of a T.
“You’re an artist! Well, that’s a start. Too bad you can’t remember anything else. But it’s still dangerous for you to go wandering around Topaz with amnesia.”
Topaz. This name too, sparked a faint memory. “That’s where I am?” he asked.
“That’s where you are. And if they pick you up—even with amnesia, even with papers―they’ll throw you in an asylum. It's where they put crazy people. But not all the time.”
Sonya chewed at her bottom lip. “I’m betrothed to a man twice my age. When I told my father I wouldn’t marry him, he threatened to commit me.”
“Do you have any bills? If an enforcer stops you, you might be able to bribe him into letting you go.”
Joseph's head spinning was from all the foreign information being thrown at him. He reached into his pants pocket, and pulled forth a small bundle of rectangular bills.
A man's face was engraved in the center of each one... a cruel face crafted of angels and sharp edges, and stamped with the letter T.
Joseph tapped the image with his finger. “Who is he?”
Sonya handed the currency back to him, with a trembling hand. “Tehotep, my betrothed. He rules the empire.”
The Copper man stared down at the face a moment longer, before shoving the bills into his pocket. Once more, vague formless images tugged at his memory.
“I want you to go to my friend Joan's house. You'll be safe there. When you get there, offer to pay your way. She's always strapped for bills...It’s near morning, you better get going.”
Sonya led him out of the alcove to a heavy oak door. She opened the door onto a tree lined street. Three houses down, it dipped down into a steep hill. Ten feet away, a trolley car idled on the tracks in the middle of the lane; puffs of steam poured from the corkscrew pipe at the front of the car.
She followed his eyes to the trolley. “It's safer for you to walk, sometimes enforcers ride the train,” and pointed to the incline. “Go down that hill, and follow the street for a mile. Take a right at Culpepper. Travel another two miles and make a right at Mulberry.”
“Then just keep walking. You can’t miss it. Joan's building is 2000 Mulberry. It sits between two others. Cobblestones lead up to her door. Her apartment is H-12; it's upstairs.”
Sonya lifted her arm to display a bracelet with objects hanging from it. “Here help me get this off... Show her this and tell her I sent you.”
“Give me your papers too.” She carried the sheet to the end table behind them; then dipped the feathered quill into an ink well, turned the paper over and scribbled on the back.
The Indigo woman waved the paper a few times to dry the ink. “Give this to her too.”
Joseph hesitated, he was loathe to part company with this mysterious woman. He felt connected to her somehow.
“Will I see you again?”
Sonya smiled. “Count on it. Joan is my best friend.”
* * *
Outside he turned the paper over.
She'd written one line.
Look at his arm.
Copyright 2012 Valjeanne Jeffers all rights reserved.
Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds is available for purchase. Contact me at sister24moon@gmail.com
also available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble
This is kind of an open question. How many black creators on this site actually make a steady living off of creating? I mean don't have a day job but only create in their respective craft? I just wanted to know. Do you think black (Animation, Fiction,Comics, Game creation, ect) can be a viable way to earn decent living? Thoughts?
Hey guys, HELP! I need more storage space on my DropBox account for my collaborative animation project at school. Would you mind creating an account from this link and helping me earn 500MB each of storage space for your referrals?
What do you get out of it? A basic account with the same bonus storage benefit when you invite friends (via email, Twitter, Facebook) to sign up. For my artist and entrepreneurial friends this is the perfect way to share files back and forth with your (or perhaps our?) future collaborative projects. Thanks in advance and I really appreciate your help.
Awk! I can't believe I forgot this one! It was early in the morning . . .
http://www.mondoernesto.com/2011/07/alchemy-lost-and-found.html
It's a review of Minister Faust's incredible novel The Alchemists of Kush. My apologies to Minister Faust, but this way his book gets an entire post to itself.
Hello, Black Science Fiction Society! Here some posts about black science fiction from my blog, Mondo Ernesto:
There's also links to sites where some of my stories can be read for free.
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| Electron Configuration: Think Quest |
Electrons rule our world, but not so long ago they were only an idea. This month marks the 120th anniversary of a profound and influential creation, the electron theory of Dutch physicist
Hendrik Antoon Lorentz. His electron was not merely a hypothesized elementary particle; it was the linchpin of an ambitihous theory of nature. Today physicists are accustomed to the notion that a complete description of nature can rise out of simple, beautiful equations, yet prior to Lorentz that was a mystic vision.
Scientific American:
Happy Birthday, Electron!
Nobel Prize:
Hendrik Antoon Lorentz
"Mic check one, two, one two.
On the turntables and phonographs on the right side of the ring we have the terrible, the tenacious turntable titans known as “The Fantastic Phono Freaks”. Live and direct, one time for your mind six tables rocking all at once. The freaks throw all kinds of sounds, hooks, and jabs. They cut with style, passion, finesse, and grace. In a wild display of old and new, the crew cued up records and turned the volume up to 10. With hand held tables, marching decks, an old phonograph, a killer sound system, and two custom 1200's the crew was loud!
Adjust your ears, on the left side of the ring we have the royal, regal, and ready to rock ensemble known as the “Gye Nyame State University” marching band. 1st squadron. With crisp chimes, booming bass, horns that rattle, drums that shred, and leadership that strikes hard the band shows off. Striking, blowin’, and smacking like a wrestling match of robots and animals.
Although both groups came to the ring that day to settle a score, there was no victory that day. Just a warm sunset at the courts where all kinds of people came to sit on the bleachers, hold signs,cheer, and bare witness to an incredible competition of sound, technique, and bass.
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| Photobucket |
ZapperZ's excellent rant: Stupid Politician Making Stupid Rants
Assassination Anxiety Giveaway Contest.
I didn't have a winner the last time. So I decided to try again and this time make the questions a little easier. So here it is. Another giveaway contest for a free autographed copy of Assassination Anxiety. Just like before the same rules apply. To win you have to answer all of the questions 100% correct. And your contest entry must have the current date. No date then your entry is disqualified. Send your entries to me either through Facebook. Or at my personal E-Mail address. violator1@earthlink.net. And please do not send your entries in the form of attachments. I'm a bit leery of getting E-mail attachments. So they will be deleted. Lets see if this time we can finally have a winner.
1. Name all of the super Sayan characters in the Dragonball Z anime series.
2. Secret identities. What are the aliases of these popular comic book characters? James Holwett, Max Dillon, Oswald Cobblepot.
3. Troy Landry can be found huntin’ gators in this popular TV show.
4. This German officer was Eva Braum’s brother-in-law.
5. What do you get when you mix tin with copper?
6. Thor was forced to kill this schizophrenic super hero.
7. The inspiration for the Facebook character, Sandman, came from the title of this AC/DC song.
8. The name, Nightstalker, was given to two individuals. One of them fictional. The other a real life person.
9. What are the names of the Incredible Hulk’s two sons?
10. How many heads do each of these mythical monsters have? Cerberus, Chimera, Hydra.
11. Secret identities once again. What are the aliases of these comic book characters? Thaddeus Ross, Calvin Zabo, Carla Soften.
12. It’s a little known fact that Adolph Hitler passed over a chance to develop this weapon due to his intense hatred of jews.
13. The movies, Texas chainsaw massacre and Psycho were based on the ghoulish crimes of this killer in 1957.
13. In which video games can you find these monsters? Hydralisk, Radscorpion, Skag.
14. Alec Guinnes and Anthony Hopkins both played this truly evil character.
15. In which video games can you find these locations? Ebb, Lucky 38, Lordaeron, The Inner Sphere, Pandora.
16. In Dungeons and dragons which type of dragon breathes which type of breath? Fire, Acid, Ice, Lightning.
17. In Marvel Comics who are the parents of these kids? Dakken, Sin, Skarr.
18. In the TV series, Dr Who the Wirrin and the Zarbi are which type of creatures?
19. This late punk rock singer’s initials were W.O.W.
20. This guy used to be Al Capone’s boss.
New post With the Blood of Scoundrels: part 2. Find out what happens to Lamin and N'gara while on their stay in the Xaftaan city of Tel.
link: TO LANDS FAR AFIELD
College Park, MD, May 16, 2012 —The American Institute of Physics (AIP) has chosen renowned physicist and writer Lisa Randall, Ph.D., as the 2012 recipient of the Andrew Gemant Award, which is given annually for significant contributions to the cultural, artistic, or humanistic dimension of physics.
“I was delighted to hear about this award,” said Randall. “It’s very nice for such broader creative activities stemming from physics to be recognized. They can be both risky and rewarding, so it’s very satisfying when they work out well.”
Randall is considered one of the most influential theoretical physicists of the past decade. Her scientific research explores gaps in our current understanding of the properties and interaction of matter, such as why gravity is weaker than other fundamental forces and what is the nature of dark matter.
Randall has used art to communicate some of the exotic ideas that stem from her research efforts. At the invitation of composer Hector Parra, she wrote the libretto for the opera “Hypermusic Prologue: A Projective Opera in Seven Planes.” The opera, which features contrasting tempos and transitions into electronically altered music, delves into the concept of extra dimensions and premiered in 2009 at the Pompidou Centre in Paris. Randall also co-curated the Los Angeles Art Association exhibit Measure for Measure, which examined the important scientific concept of scale through the lens of contemporary art.
AIP Press Release:
Theoretical Physicist Lisa Randall Wins 2012 Gemant Award
Man, been mia from BSFS for a minute. Coming back with some new work to share though. Peace, love, and light to all my creative folkers on here.
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| The ninth-century wall paintings predate existing Mayan astronomical records by hundreds of years |
An excavation of an archaeological site in Guatemala has uncovered Mayan astronomical records dating to the ninth century A.D. The tabulated numbers, which predate existing Mayan astronomical documents by several hundred years, chart the motion of the moon and also seem to relate to the orbits of Mars and Venus. (And good news: they
do not predict the world will end this year—in fact, some of the numbers appear to
refer to dates far in the future.)
Scientific American: Earliest Mayan Astronomical Calendar Unearthed in Guatemala Ruins
I've got a new novella coming out next month. It's called The Zombie Show. I wrote it some months back, matter-of-fact, right after I finished the eight story for Tales from an Apartment. I've taken my time editing it and re-editing and the prospective release date is 6/20/2012. I was going to do the weekend, but I figured, first day of summer, why not?
I'll be putting up a four page excerpt over a course of days leading up to the release. Right now I'm trying to see if Amazon and Barnes & Noble will let me list it on a pre-sale basis. If not, I have a plan to work around that.
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| Credit: Hinode/XRT |
Skywatchers in East Asia and the western United States should circle Sunday (May 20) on their calendars. That's when a solar eclipse will block out most of the sun, leaving a spectacular "ring of fire" shining in the sky for observers located along the eclipse's path.
The event is what's known as an annular solar eclipse — from the Latin "annulus," meaning "little ring" — and its full glory should be visible from much of Asia, the Pacific region and some of western North America, weather permitting. At its peak, the eclipse will block about 94 percent of the sun's light.
Space.com: 'Ring of Fire' Solar Eclipse Occurs May 20
Concepts in Horror – “Fear the Great Equalizer”
- by C. A. Griffin
Everyone is afraid of something. If they tell you that they’re not of afraid of anything then they are lying. Most of us don’t want to admit what we’re afraid of and that’s okay. Most of us are afraid of more than one thing and feel that admitting as much reveals our weaknesses to the world. That is true. Fear comes in many shapes, sizes, forms, and degrees. It’s as in escapable as death and while we can argue about when we develop our first fear, it is certain that the fears don’t stop until you’re dead.
I used to have quite a number of fears until I found that throwing myself INTO them would help me face them with a calmer attitude. From then on, once I was faced with the horror of something like the sailing the ocean or a flying across it, I would be try to be just a little less afraid. Now, truth be told, I am NOT totally fearless of the sailing or flying across the pacific to reach my home away from home, but I do fear it a bit less each time.
Yeah, you’ve heard it all before – how you should face your fears head on in order to conquer them. Well, soemtimes, when you try to face those fears, they just take on a life of their own and laugh at you like the brave fool you are, making you want to scrurry back to the hem of your mom’s skirt. Come on you can admit it. I know I’ve had those moments. Case in point, I purposefully will NOT take a cruise.
Everyone tells me I should try it…I tell them ”Hey, I’ve SEEN Titanic. Helloooooo!!” And unless they start making color coordinated life jackets that my lame but wardrobe conscious behind can wear while I instinctively try to nullify my fear with copious amounts of alcohol, I will not be going on a cruise. NOPE.
I was in Cancun awhile back, at the end of a business trip with my boss and his family. We went to tour Chichen Itza and attempt to climb to the top of one of the ancient pyramids. There we were, along with about a hundred or so other curious tourists from across the globe, looking at this magnificent structure. The stone stairs were worn smooth by the thousands, if not millions, of feet that have climbed up and down its sides. I told my friend Ed, his parents and his daughter that there was NO way I was going to up there. I stood there and was made to feel ashamed when Ed’s cute little four year old daughter followed behind her dad and began to go up. I looked behind me and there were Ed’s parents smiling and encouraging me to follow suit. Damnit. So up I went.
The climb up wasn’t that bad and the view from the top was breath taking. It was like a United Nations day trip up on top of that steep edifice. There were people of all nationalities, speaking in excited voices, posing against the hewn rock walls and snapping pictures. I felt so wonderously proud of myself for making it to the top. This trip was the most exotic and risky trip that I have ever done in my entire life. I was elated…that is until I realized that I had to go down.
This pyramid is so damn steep and the steps so smooth that I knew immediately that my clumsy behind was going to make headlines: ”American tourist breaks neck…” I thought about trying to go down the conventional way but the thought walking down those stairs frightened so badly that I actually felt the blood drain from my face. Looking around, I noticed that I wasn’t the only one. There were several other people looking like they wanted to slap themselves for coming up to the top of this ancient wonder.
A couple next to me was having a very serious discussion in another language. She was close to hysterics, he was looking anxious and concerned. It was obvious she was too afraid to make the descent. Hell so was I. Ed and his adorable little daughter, had no such problems, as they were already making their way down…ON FOOT with the agility and speed of mountain goats.
Drawn together by our growning fear, the woman and I exchanged a look. I said to her, “I can’t do this either…” Now she didn’t speak a word of English and I didn’t even know what language she was talking in, Swedish or something, but we understood each other clearly. Gently, her husband caressed her arm as he said something to her and with a nod she walked past me and sat down on the first step and scooted down on her rear. Her movements reminded me of how a toddler scoots down, when first taught about the use of stairs.
She looked over her shoulder at her husband and then at me, motioning for me to do the same and seeing an escape, no matter how silly it looked, I followed behind her. I was so happy that I got giddy. I butt-scooted down those stairs giggling all the way, just like my kids had done when they were growing up.
Ed, his parents and his daughter were hysterical with laughter. I didn’t give a damn. I nearly bent over to kiss the ground but I saw a piece of discarded gum and thought better of it, opting instead to pat the ground in adoration and offer up a prayer of thanks. I never saw that woman again but we had bonded in fear that day. I know that if we were to ever meet again, we would both have that moment of familiarity, where we would be trying to place where we know each other from. Yet, in the deep recesses of our subconscious, where we lock away the things that frighten us the most, our kindred spirits will recall that day of nauseating fear. A feeling of fright so deeply entrenched that it wiped away all boundaries and left only the raw sweaty emotion of fear. Forget food as the thing that draws people together, FEAR will do it everytime and far more quickly than a smorgasbord of food fit for royalty.
FEAR, the great equalizer.
- C. A. Griffin May 14, 2012
Co-author of "Corner Stories" published in 2011 and Co-author of "Dark Secrets" due Oct. 2012
This blog was originally posted on the website for the new book
"Dark Secrets" http://www.darksecrets.net/dswp/?page_id=176
