20111223 (J)
Journal: December 23, 2011
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Senses

Winter Sky: Orion boldly marched across the crisp solstice sky last night as the Pleiades gossiped nearby, chattering so much they seem but a blur.

Terry is the only friend I have who wears sexuality on herself. It seems all my other friends, like Jacquie, have given it up for bangles, carpets, and matching painted walls.

While thinking about observations pretty well focused on decay of the steam kettle’s energy and expressed by the whistle when heated iron coils are turned off and the source heat decays. Several things going on there, but pretty accurate models are possible as long as gradients remain high enough to resolve the tone of the whistle. As the frequency decayed, I imagined mist of spheres of various sizes at 100 plus degrees hit by infrared photons just right to cause the spheres to explode in a myriad of adiabatic explosions, the number decaying over time causing less pressure and lower frequency as all (or most) water vapor is forced through the whistle opening.

Then I wondered whether it’s an explosion or the touch of a gentle breeze (the violence of the Big Bang or the peaceful leisure of its inertia) depends on the chronoscope with which it is viewed? In my daily goings on, explosions; at the atomic scale a gentle touch.

Talking to myself: I am completely sure, butterflies exempted, that I did not buy Christmas labels this year; “So there, pussy pants -- who’s not so sure of anything.” But I could be hallucinating, right? Or maybe just forgetful? I am forgetful, you know? “Of course, but that’s bull shit and you know it!” You and I both know it for certain as humans can get. This and a lot more.