Notes - relevancy / Really? / Dot Angel / Pouch-9 completed

0744 hours. How are yesterday's blogged thoughts relevant to Pouch-9?

         Good question, boy. - Post. - Amorella

         Mid-morning. You had a catnap and the completed your daily exercise program. You want to know if it would be offensive to think of the slice of thighbone as physics. If it would have been I would not have suggested the concept. Imaginary science you can deal with an imaginary G---D you cannot. - Amorella

         You set such a tight draw on a fine string of dark humor. Me, an agnostic can't deal with an imaginary G---D but I can deal with imaginary (stretched-in-concept) science. I cannot argue this even in its seeming contradiction.

         I was thinking on an analogy (poetic if you will) of this thighbone slice with a Homo sapiens or marsupial humanoids thighbone.

         If such a thighbone is set as living, existentially, within itself (cell-like), I foresee no problem within your personal cultural framework of heartansoulanmind which is where this counts most as far as your book writing is concerned. It is up to you as to how you add your 'human' authenticity to it in the Merlyn books. Some time ago you wrote a lengthy poem on fractals. Find it and include in today's postings. This will better show where these concepts are coming from. They are not out of the blue, boy. Post. - Amorella

         1019 hours. I am still internalizing this, Amorella.

         Really? Who would have thought? Post. - Amorella

         1128 hours. I rummaged through lots of full folders the desk drawer in the basement. It holds what I consider to be important early material in the 1980's. I found a draft of "Fractals". The original title was "Dot Angel" though I cannot remember why. No date, but it was written in the mid-nineties. I was teaching AP and my students were collaborating in 'math essays' their AP Physics class at the time. We had watched a film out of New York about fractals; both classes discussed the film (about an hour long, mostly demonstration.

         Leave space. You don't have to complete this in one sitting. - Amorella

         I sent this out for publication, only one place, in Delhi (India), said they were interested but in the end they did not publish.

***

"Dot Angel"

Real mathematics creates artificial colors

Numbers on their sides like snowflakes

Drifting down to disk drive

Fractalling

On the computer screen

Survival in Black

Color clovers with inside waves

Follow a Mandelbrot Zoon

In

I am looking for an Angel

Forms appear

Colors from Black

Shapes in zipper and bridge

and

Peacock and planets

Jewelry without the earth

Computer art

Two Black Circles

(The left one lesser sized)

Touch

Chaos at the Edge

I see it. Buddha reclining

In nothing but imagination

I see it. Oriental Art.

Dragon's eyes     Sea horses

A visual aside of blue rain from pink clouds

I see it. Medieval or Greek Art

Dolphin in a wave

I see it. Vishnu re-lining

To Indian Art in Julia Promenades

Paisley stretching to dragon scales

Scales to branching

Branching to rainbows

Rainbows to waves

Waves to zero

Zero to Black

Circles

I see the Angel not

In the zooming in on the color edge of chaos

Mathematical art bound up and boundless

A picture's point of view in a picture's point of view

Ms Gertrude Stein, I want an Angel

And get Colors in Form

Fractals to Mandelbrot Zoom to Julia Promenades

Pearl shading

Moon

Blue peacocks       Green seahorsetails

Theatrical curtains

ScreenBlack

Buddha with a string attached

String on a Circle

What would Hamlet say?

I want an Angel and I get Shakespeare

Red rust     White and Blue

Green Mohammad Moon

To the Black Buddha ever reclining

And dissolving again

Verticals     Blue wires

Yellow dots

In the moving up/down colors

StringsinYellow

Webs draped with a spider's imagination

Spinning mathematics out

Black to long crescent

Forming an arachnid astronaut's sunrise

Black with red strings attached

The cool rage in a spider's mind

Getting all attached and ready for food

Geometrics gone amuck

But gone without madness

How strange

StringstoBoxesgo

The heart is in the professor's smile

A pro-grammar's dream

Blue  >  Red  >  Yellow  >  White

String out

And a rainbow dyslexic spider

to a black cobra goes

One, to Nine black hooded snakes

With no sense of hell

Tattoo red

Flat skinned insignia

rises

Above the cool blue yellow green

Blue to Black

Black to stones of green and blue

Color is less and Black is more

String wires to the Angels

Metaphysics on a screen

Humanity

Psychedelic and slow lightning --

No thunder in strings of new music

Humanity is Free

To bend the Light that shines

Christmas

A Christmas Tree

A Christmas Tree Bulb

Alone in the Universe

Without a Star for Companionship

Alas, what is it to be a color

Humanity makes its own point

Sharp, without the note

Without an image

Consciousness

A branching magnified

Contemplation

Whatisthepointwhatisthepointwhatisthepoint

IwantanAngeland getstrungoutinclosedwords

KnowledgedoesnotanAngelget

Nonumbersorwords

Angelisbeyond

IntheHeart

TheHeart

Heart

Art

***

         1217 hours. This didn't take so long. I had forgotten what it was about. "Dot Angel" is a good title.

         Carol is talking about going to lunch and then to a movie. Post. Later, dude. - Amorella

         2111 hours. We saw 'Zero Dark Thirty' after our usual lunch at Penn Station. We thought it was okay, perhaps a 7 out of 10. I didn't like all the torture scenes and I don't think Carol did either. What was the point? Supposedly the authorities never received anything good from all of it anyway.

         Earlier you wanted to know why it was important to gain the larger sense of ultra-reality at this point in time. - Amorella

         I did. Actually I forgot about it but remembered earlier this evening. I cannot imagine that the marsupial humanoids didn't already know this theory. What good does it do them at this juncture?

         They can slide on air as if it were ice, and that is what is going to happen when the Cessna's motor accidently starts while Blake and company are underneith Ship while in blackanot. Go to Google Earth. - Amorella

         The Cessna finds a quick landing spot on Township Highway 314 just east of the runway. Woods on both sides of road. Blackenot on. The end of the runway can be seen in the upper left corner. (Google Earth)

         What is amazing to me is that there actually is a township road that is straight and where they force land there are no houses.

         See, boy, you don't need to actually fly but we have a photo for authenticity. - Amorella

         No one will ever read this little fact, Amorella.

         The point is, if someone from Ashtabula County does sheorhe will know there is some truth to it. Looks like you've actually been there. The Amish farm may be fiction but I like the juxtaposition of a future and past tense in the same place and I know you do too. - Amorella

         2241 hours. I have completed Pouch-9. I don't know if it is a near final draft though.

         It will due for now. Add and post. - Amorella

***

Pouch-9    ©2013, rho

         Blake sat in the pilot's seat with his sister Pyl as co-pilot. Justin was in his usual position, the third seat back. He liked it because he could better see out both sides equally. The Cessna 210 was flying east above Lake Erie shores at about 150 miles per hour at 16,500 feet, thus they were enjoying the visual pleasantries of a crispy clear blue sky above a layer of thickening rain clouds below.

         Such is the beauty of flying a plane such as the Silver Eagle in full sunlight on an otherwise cheerless, dreary day in early March; this is Blake's thought suddenly interrupted within the time of 'dreary and March', the Rolls-Royce M250 turboprop failed.

         First things first. Blake and Pyl both automatically checked the fuel, ignition and air to the engine. Improper combustion. All three tighten their seat belts and doors. Pyl attempted to work the radio but it remained just as immediately, dead. 'Slow descent', thought Blake well conditioned for a variety of outcomes, the first being a precautionary landing. He checked his headings but Pyl was already ahead of him.

         Pyl said the following as a definite statement. "Ashtabula County should be below us shortly."

         "We are in a good controlled glide," replied Blake and with humor, "How you doing back there, Justin?"

         "I'm fine. You know what you are doing. I'm all right."

         "Good." He paused, "If we can't get it started we will land on a airstrip, road or a farmer's field. We have time to think this out."

         "Fuel pump?" questioned Pyl.

         "No, it shouldn't be. I think it is vapor lock but I am not sure why. She was going along pretty as you please."

         "As a kid we had vapor lock once in a car in Death Valley. We survived."

         "You visited in July, right?" asked Blake as he continued checking the gauges, rate of descent . . .

         "I don't know what is wrong with the radio, Blake. We have electric except for the radio."

         "Cloud ceiling is about three thousand feet. We have plenty of room, plenty of time." Here we go through the top layer.

         "Ashtabula County Airport, HZY in Jefferson; 924 feet above sea level," said Pyl. "But we cannot contact them."

         Blake makes adjustments and says, "They can spot us visually."

***

         Ship sets itself thirty feet above the Cessna with blackenot narrow-banded to camouflage the Silver Eagle as it drops below the clouds. The airspace between Ship and the plane appears to thicken into a fractallized mirror. Blake has no problem seeing the town of Ashtabula below as he heads southeast towards I-90 and the Ashtabula County Airport beyond. Ship remains parallel from above then as the Cessna begins to glide in for a safe landing. Blake puts the wheels in down and lock as he readjusts the flaps up.

        

         In the cabin Pyl asks, "Why don't they see us?"

         Dumbfounded Blake replied, "I don't know. I don't understand. And no damn radio." He attempted to restart the engine one more time hoping they would at least hear the plane. It started. Flaps down for better control. The fuel appears to have condensed, he thought. Then the plane began to slide in the air like it was on a sheet of ice. He was going to overshoot the runway so he saw Rt. 193 just beyond, and slightly to the south he saw a deserted township road set straight east. No traffic. Blake said calmly, "I'll land on the road."

         Pyl stated, "I agree. Do it."

         "Go for it, Blakie. Looks good. No one in sight." said Justin with some tension.

         "Land where the road cuts through the woods. Nothing but fields before and after but up ahead are houses," commented Pyl feeling the Cessna was under control even though the engine again stopped suddenly. "You are on the mark."

         The wheels touched the rough tar and chip pavement. "Down." said Blake braking the wheels just as if he had landed at the airport about a mile behind them. When the three climbed out no one bothered to look up as their focus was on the engine.

         An older man walked up from near the tail section and said, "Can I be of any assistance?"

         He was surprised that no one responded to his voice. He wanted to take a step closer but froze with sudden apprehension. Behind him another voice, "Pyl. Blake and Justin. How are you? What has happened? Why the forced landing?"

         The three turned at once. They could hardly believe their eyes. Here stood Mykkie Carlson and an unidentified older man. No car nearby and here she is, thought the three in unison.

         779 words

***