A Bureaucracy of One

Lucid Dreaming and the Whoans

I have lucid dreams. Not all the time, and some I remember with more clarity than others, but nary a month goes by that I don't have at least one.

Most of the time I enjoy them, but sometimes I find myself frustrated by them.

This frustration stems from my inability while awake to capture the complexity and majesty of some of these dreams. In the space of a 40 minute r.e.m. cycle I can experience a fully realized alternate world; one with its own unique history, and following its own coherent physical laws. But no matter how many times I tell myself in my dreams that I will retain full memory of these fantastic landscapes, the details of the dreams quickly fade as soon as I open my eyes.

Still, sometimes I manage to bring a little bit back with me, such as the n-dimensional beings from last night's trip.

These n-dimensional aliens, called Whoans, manifest themselves in our universe as single points, but gain dimensionality with each of their kind that are in close proximity. So a single Whoan is 1 dimensional; two of them appear as flat images; and three become fully 3 dimensional brings. However, Whoans get their name from the fact that they never travel in our universe in groups fewer than four, and thus being 4 dimensional beings (appearing as pulsing tesseracts), can travel through time. Like their namesake, Dr. Who.

The Poetry in Rocket Launches

My laptop just glitched the eff out. Made like it was rebooting without me doing anything but using the touchpad. This coupled with it's new-found ability to overheat the wireless card and shut it down makes me think it might be time to invest in a new machine.

Looks like I picked a bad month to stop rolling drunks for spare change.

Now, the original meat of tonight's post was going to be some poetry that I have been working on for the last few months. I was going to use some of the downtime while at work to complete and edit some of them, but alas, it was not to be.

Not for lack of time, but rather for lack of effort I mean, yes, of course it was due to a lack of time! Haha! Really, I mean what else could it be? You see, the problem with polishing something to make it spiffy and neat is that sometimes a turd is a turd. These silk purses will not be turned into sow's ears anytime soon.

However, I do have something poetry-related to bring to the table tonight! Some months ago I posted a poem called Lavender Flames at Twilight. It was based on a dream I had (one of the few I managed to write down before it fled), and the image of the rockets lifting into the sky stayed with me for weeks afterwards.

Then about a month ago I ran across this link to the English Russia blog, and marveled at how the pictures of the Soyuz rocket launch matched so closely to my dream.  A few of the pictures are included below, but I strongly recommend you go to the site to see all of them. They are breath-takingly beautiful, and awe-inspiring.

That right there? That is a 34 ton javelin giving the finger to Earth's gravity as it hauls it's precious human cargo (and lots of supplies) to the International Space Station. And that. Is. Awseome.

Lavender Flames at Twilight

This is a loose translation of a dream I had a couple weeks ago. I meant to put it up sooner, but I've had a hard time coming up with a title. If you can think of one, let me know.

 

Standing on the back step overlooking the bay
You pointed out the rockets launching into the twilight sky
As we watched I saw two, then three, then four more
Burning for space

Caught in the majesty of the moment, the night's wine still on our lips
Your hand sought mine and we wondered at the spectacle
When simultaneously our eyes caught grey scale motion
Being chased by a pale flickering lavender flame

Muddle thoughts soaked in the night's activities struggled in my head
And as your grip tightened in mine we saw the missile split
And the warheads that had been cradled in its bosom leap for their freedom
Behind it, you mutely pointed, were three more
And yet still we watched, rooted in terrible wonder as death traced arcs against the ink of night

Icy dread presaged the realization that two of death's heads were heading our way
And with a terrible slowness I spun and pulled you for the door
As we felt the staccato pop of the bombs dispensing their payloads
My shirt, the one you had brought back from Mexico
Caught on the door frame, and time slowed further until it stopped

Then started again with the thundering roar of my heartbeat
And the ripping of the sleeve as it separated from the shoulder
You gasped at the blood that trickled from my arm, but I didn't care
I was panicked
Not at the thought that we wouldn't make it to cover
But because I thought my clumsiness might keep you from safety

Now past the damnable jamb that had stood vicious sentry against our entry
I whipped-cracked you past me and toward the door to the garage shelter
Using my mass to impart to you the precious momentum
Needed to carry you over salvation's threshold

Your scream of my name pierced me
As I threw myself under our kitchen table
The old oak had seen my grandmother's birth
My father's death
Our wedding feast
And now I hoped against hope
That its stout frame would withstand a little more

As the bombs started to roar.

 

Flights of Fancy - The Jetto J43SP-C

To say that the Jetto J43SP-C (Space Plane-Cargo) was atmospheric-capable would be to stretch the definition of "capable" to uncomfortable dimensions.  Sure, it had forward canards to balance the the tail-heavy ship's tendency to "sit up" on final approach, and many papers could be (and have been) written on the brilliance of the stacked rear wing design, and how robust and rugged it was.  The same could also be said for the OMS systems which were close cousins of those on the original Space Shuttle.  Simple and efficient, they made the J43SP-C pirouette like a dancer, but only in micro-gravity

Then there were the engines.  When Jetto was designing the the J43SP-C, they went in for simplicity and reliability over flash and glitz, hence their use of anonther Space Shuttle technology, an upgraded SSME, as the primary propulsion unit, with two JATO engines providing addition mission-specific thrust.  The genius behind those was that an expended unit could be jettisoned after lift-off (much like the Shuttle's SRB's), and new ones slid in and locked into place. Of course, since most companies only ever used the J43SP-C in microgravity environments, the JATO's were mostly considered to be dead weight and never installed.

So why was this light cargo workhorse mostly confined to LEO-to-GEO flights, or packet runs to the Lagranges? Because this was all too often the end result of a J43SP-C entering into any atmosphere denser than that of Mars.

 

 

 

All art by Dimitri Popov. Go here for his spectacular portfolio.  These designs were for a FPS, Exodus From the Earth, that was released in 2008, and then promptly vanished from gaming consciousness.

Other Worlds Than These - Digital Concept Art

Another lazy Sunday finds me sitting on my arse, surfing the web, and just killing time until my afternoon shift starts.  Unlike other Sundays though, today I actually found something of more than just passing interest to while the hours away.  Specifically, it is the Portfolio section of the CGSociety website - a community for digital artists.

Concept Art has long held a special fascination for me as I love to see how those with the talent to do so interpret, and bring to life those, figments of imagination that stir them to create.  Below are three of my favorite pieces that I have come across this morning.

First up is Hijo de Aguilas by Valentin Pertov.

A young man overlooks the ruins of a city flooded by a nearby river, while the thunderheads bring the promise of rain.  To me, storms represent dynamic and unpredictable change, and while I normally dislike change, I revel in the chaos that storm winds create.  Thus, in Hijo de Aguila I see a perfect still frame of a storm's glory just before it impacts on the ruins of man.

Outpost (To many stars ...) by Henry Pashkov.

The broken english that the artist uses in his posts leads me to believe that it should be "Too many stars ...", but I rather prefer the subtext implied by the actual spelling - that the Outpost is a gateway to the many stars of the galaxy, and the many more worlds that circle them.

The Medusa Field by Martin Bland.

Ruin is a common theme in many pieces of concept art, possibly because it can evoke such strong emotions, and possibly because artists, being creators themselves, are fascinated by destruction.  Whereas the ruin in Hijo de Aguilas was a city overrun by a vibrant and living jungle, The Medusa Field is a study in death and desolation.  Dust and ash from the remains of the city cover the sky, and the empty armours remain forever frozen where they stood when the destruction unleashed boiled away the sea they were hidden under, killing those inside, but leaving them as statues.