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Showing posts from January, 2007

One-eyed Madonna

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Alright, it's not historically accurate. Traditionally, I think, Mary has always been portrayed with two eyes. None of the Bible accounts mention how many eyes Mary had. Da Vinci's Madonna had two eyes. Of course, if Da Vinci was such an expert, the Last Supper wouldn't have been painted with table and chairs.



I took a break from Inkblot Kaos and decided to try out Tierazon again. After trying out the formula parser in Inkblot Kaos, I had the confidence to use the one in Tierazon, something I'd never done before.



"z*c-c^z+c" I don't know if there's any procedure or method that helps to create interesting fractal formulas. Perhaps there's a way to add an extra eye to this image. I'm always stunned by the amount of work that can be accomplished by even a short formula.



There's still this magical quality to fractals. Stick a few letters and numbers together, wave the fractal wand, and things appear. Add a few photoshop filters to the…

The Wells of Abraham

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I saw a documentary on Middle Eastern wells. A well is a big deal there. Everything happens because of water.

Some of them are quite old, even supposedly dating back to the days of Abraham. A well is so important that there are men who dive down into these narrow tunnels and remove debris when they're plugged. It's the ultimate claustrophobic experience.



Abraham named his children and he named his wells. Political deals were associated with wells. From the well flowed water, and from the water grew a city. Beersheba flowed out of a well.

In the desert, life is a plug and the well is the socket. Sheep, goats, men; they all orbit the well. Our eyes see the stars, and by them you can navigate the sea, but your feet travel from well to well, in the desert.



There were many tribes and clans, but they all drank water. If a well can be dug, and water can be found, then a well can be plugged, and the strangers move on.

In the Australian movie, Mad Max, they coveted the stockpiles …

I spent my future building a star

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We worked as a team. A huge team of scientists and builders like me.



No one had built a star before. We were going to be the first.



How many angels can dance on the head of a pin? We know now. We built very special pins and we saw things that no one had ever seen before. The scientists knew how to make these pins. They were needed to help build the star.



It took years of work. When it was finished we all crowded together to get a look. The most important scientist was there. He turned the switch. We had made the very first star.



We're all retired now. We still like to talk about the old days when we built the star. Especially when our grandchildren visit. We wish they'd visit more often. We tell them how we built the star.

"The star that makes the electricity for our houses Grandpa? Did you make that star?"

"No, not that one. We made the other star. The star that kills."

Inkblot Kaos parameter files

How Green was my Cubicle

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I read somewhere, or heard from someone, that study carrols were invented in monasteries. A study carrol (did I spell it wrong?) is a one-person table that is walled on all sides except the one you sit at. The prototypical cubicle.

No, it wasn't the first. The first cubicle was the small cave preferred by sages. I saw a documentary about a place in northern India, an area that is rugged and remote and home to real old-fashioned sages along with smugglers and some very paranoid tribespeople.

I saw this guy sitting in his little cave, thinking, or something, and I thought: he works in a cubicle. He met with some tourists who were told not to wander around or disturb the locals, and he highly recommended that they not return home, but rather get themselves a cave like he has.

In my six short years of normal working I worked for 4 months in a cubicle; nicely padded; color-matched to the chair and carpet; nice, solid desk. You stand up, and all around you are busy people on the phone…

The marriage of Sputnik

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The first Radio Satelite. 1957, or around then. Whatever happened to Sputnik?

No longer a celebrity, and not too shiny anymore, he slides through space, without destination or purpose. His simple senseless beeping, once the scherzo of a great Superpower symphony, is now just a sign he's still alive.

Years pass, decades pass. Then one night, while orbitting, forgotten, worthless, abandoned, obsolete, junked... he hears a voice, a song in space.


"Glowing, glowing, my heart is glowing." Sings the distant satelite.


Sputnik finds himself drawn to the soothing song and sets off in search of her.


Begone, crude space-can!

Not her father, it's her guardian that confronts Sputnik. Jamming her signals and chasing off all suitors, the old guardian secretly plots to marry her himself.


Beset by a web of intrigue woven by her guardian and unable to approach, Sputnik despairs, but cannot forget her voice.


"Sputnik!" she cries. She appears, dressed in leopard skin and blush…