Sunday, August 2, 2015

To Rosa with love













Reading a little discussion on contact with aliens, I was rather taken aback by some concern about aliens respecting our copyright laws. Now there are two possibilities here. There is a possibility that this was fasciscous, but I really think he was serious, him being a science fiction writer and all. The other possibility is that I am on the wrong planet. Somehow the thought of an alien ship absconding with the complete works of Nickleback to make millions back home just doesn't irk me too much.

Now I have first hand experience with all of this having been taken on a small tour of our wee galaxy. I thought for many years it had been just a silly dream, but science is proving otherwise. Her name was Rosa, and she came to me in a dream just after I got over the little red headed girl with her soft hair. Now Rosa's beings have a science which, shall we say, is a little more organic than ours. Those black hole fuzzball thingies, they call them mouths. And the galaxies, they use the great forces of sapience and cunning to warily circle the hungry mouth at their centre. They also have this view on evolution as a great hungry mouth evolving to eat up all the other life, but we'll leave that be.

At that time in my life, just out of your higher school, there wasn't much talk in physics class about leptons, photons, and gluons, those one-dimensional strings of energy that take on their identities by vibrating in different vogues. And actually even less talk about those fuzzyball black holes now thought of as extra dense neutron stars where its neutrons have deliquesced, liberating the quarky strings to form even quirkier strings, making these fuzzballs the most consummate form of degenerate matter. Fuzzball mouths sucking in munchy spaghetti to digest the quarks, is this not anarchy? Best to walk with sapience and cunning.

Rosa's beings, they didn't travel by craft. They rode bicycles, mostly built for two. Just peddle away on up into space and off you went through the space-time continuum, navigating like the deaf, dumb, and blind kid playing a mean pinball, yes, sapience and cunning. Oh, and luck, at least that's what we would call it. They just never questioned their ability to go where they wanted, they just up and went. Time was no barrier. Backwards 2.58 billion, forwards 1.73 million, no problem. With some weird map of our cosmos in their noggins, like a holograph, they would hone in and land like a goose on wheels in some eclectic neighbourhood, to fit right in with the scenery.

Apparently evolution had left these beings in some sort of limbo when their sun wandered too close to the “mouth” and them being this culture of bicycle enthusiasts who had evolved this ability to beam from planet to planet to avoid being fried by the solar flares of a magnetically challenged sun on the edge of the event horizon, they jumped all the way to other solar systems where life had discovered a decent borscht. (Sorry I forgot to mention Rosa and her borscht, with cream, but this is a silly blog and not a book so suck it in, eh.) She showed me her sun, with a tear in her eye, a faint faint point of light far, far away, on her bicycle built for two, she did, in my dream. So we warmed up some borscht (with cream) and then off she went, on her bicycle, in my dream, and I never saw her again. But it makes one wonder, doesn't it? Did she leave me on the wrong planet?
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