Some people are going to miss you when you're gone, but then they will be gone too. The planet Earth might remember you, but as a part of itself: the carbon and hydrogen that took shape and walked its surface for a short time. The bits and pieces of dead you will be recycled. You don't need to look to the sky to see how inconsequential you are. The planet itself is sufficient. It does remember, after a fashion, like a vinyl record remembers. It records: broken pottery, footprints, cockroaches trapped in amber for millions of years. These memories are physical, like the grooves the needle passes through while perfectly re-playing a performance of Beethoven's ninth symphony. Can our memories be so faithful?
I have bought myself a medicine hat. I am trying to get to know the Great Spirit. If our ethereal memory has purpose, the Spirit is where that purpose resides.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
comments are most welcome
People of virtual Earth, your comments are welcome here at the martian hop. We are, after all, studying the way in which information is exchanged on your planet. Please, leave a suggestion of a good book to read, or a gallery to visit, or a "web-page" to peruse. Come as you are, as yourself, or as someone else. Assume an identity. Make a fool of yourself, we won't judge you. We long for contact, discourse, discussion. It's a lonely life adrift in space without someone to talk to!
yesterday, after the pep rally, Jim saw Johnny and Diane swapping spit under the bleachers.
Dear readers,
You are a special bunch. Did you know that? You are an elite group of individuals amid a galaxy of darkness. So, buck up, won't you? Go forth and pour the lustre of your eyes on that galaxy. Make its stars shine brighter with your discovery of them. Reverberate with the frequencies of life and being and revel in the mystery.
At times it is hard to live life as it is. There are so many distractions, and human beings seem to be so preoccupied with convincing themselves that life is not as it is. But that is whence the great art of the species comes. Escaping from the unrelenting harshness of reality is a skill you can learn, and a gift you can give. Never stop learning, and give freely, friends.
Zmz
You are a special bunch. Did you know that? You are an elite group of individuals amid a galaxy of darkness. So, buck up, won't you? Go forth and pour the lustre of your eyes on that galaxy. Make its stars shine brighter with your discovery of them. Reverberate with the frequencies of life and being and revel in the mystery.
At times it is hard to live life as it is. There are so many distractions, and human beings seem to be so preoccupied with convincing themselves that life is not as it is. But that is whence the great art of the species comes. Escaping from the unrelenting harshness of reality is a skill you can learn, and a gift you can give. Never stop learning, and give freely, friends.
Zmz
Thursday, January 19, 2012
independence
Today the martian hop has severed its ties to a certain "social networking" inter-web page. Subscription rates were down, anyhow. Now, though new readership is going to be harder to attract without the assistance of such truly miraculous technology, we at the hop believe there will be much more time to provide meditative thoughts on life, science, art and alien beings now that we are doing without.
Monday, January 16, 2012
driving and music
I crashed our Earth rover. Perhaps if it had been equipped with six wheels rather than four, this could have been avoided. Alas, Earth rovers generally only have four wheels, unless they are transport units. Never fear, there were no injuries to any living creatures, just an expensive injury to the little blue automobile that/which, nonetheless, is still operable.
What else is in the news? Waves, signals. While producing decals for various other mass-produced pleasure-vehicles at my work-place, I tuned in to a far-out station. The same 50 hard-rock songs by the likes of Van Halen and Guns 'n' Roses become very dreary after a short while, let alone six months, on the job. Most were dreary to begin with. Yet, the station favoured by my Earthly co-workers tends to be the one that plays these dirges. Experimenting with the tuning dial in hopes of finding "K100: Home of the Blues" I discovered that the Blues are once again and appropriately homeless in this icy town. However, meteorological events have brought us "100.7: Breeze FM" to fill the empty glasses of bourbon, scotch and beer.
The Blues have given way to schizophrenic optimism. To paraphrase: "...playing the misses of the 30's, 40's, 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's, 90's, and Naughts". BUT you know what? It was amazing. There was so much variety, and all of it up-beat, dorky, weird, optimistic, "refreshing"! There were Polkas; there was Space Aged Pop aplenty; Bryan Adams and Bruce Cockburn were there. Il Divo showed up with Toni Braxton and wrecked the place; Rod Stewart put in an appearance with a lounge number. Nana Mouskouri warbled about undying affection. Old country numbers? CHECK! That Led Zeppelin song they over-play on the old station- not the one about the stairway, the other one about "big-legged women" not having souls- well, I never have to listen to it again. I don't have to hear a repeated song ever again, and that's the way it should be in the 21st century. So much music has been produced by human beings since sound-recording was made possible. Why can't we tune in and hear a little bit of everything?
A small update is in order. In attempting to tune in this morning to this new favourite of mine, I inadvertently discovered another fantastic radio station located at 107 on the FM dial. Nostalgia radio. Along with the Breeze, there is now enough music to keep seniors in Viagra for millennia! How I'd been missing the crackle and hiss of analog. I was stiff for over an hour last night.
What else is in the news? Waves, signals. While producing decals for various other mass-produced pleasure-vehicles at my work-place, I tuned in to a far-out station. The same 50 hard-rock songs by the likes of Van Halen and Guns 'n' Roses become very dreary after a short while, let alone six months, on the job. Most were dreary to begin with. Yet, the station favoured by my Earthly co-workers tends to be the one that plays these dirges. Experimenting with the tuning dial in hopes of finding "K100: Home of the Blues" I discovered that the Blues are once again and appropriately homeless in this icy town. However, meteorological events have brought us "100.7: Breeze FM" to fill the empty glasses of bourbon, scotch and beer.
The Blues have given way to schizophrenic optimism. To paraphrase: "...playing the misses of the 30's, 40's, 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's, 90's, and Naughts". BUT you know what? It was amazing. There was so much variety, and all of it up-beat, dorky, weird, optimistic, "refreshing"! There were Polkas; there was Space Aged Pop aplenty; Bryan Adams and Bruce Cockburn were there. Il Divo showed up with Toni Braxton and wrecked the place; Rod Stewart put in an appearance with a lounge number. Nana Mouskouri warbled about undying affection. Old country numbers? CHECK! That Led Zeppelin song they over-play on the old station- not the one about the stairway, the other one about "big-legged women" not having souls- well, I never have to listen to it again. I don't have to hear a repeated song ever again, and that's the way it should be in the 21st century. So much music has been produced by human beings since sound-recording was made possible. Why can't we tune in and hear a little bit of everything?
A small update is in order. In attempting to tune in this morning to this new favourite of mine, I inadvertently discovered another fantastic radio station located at 107 on the FM dial. Nostalgia radio. Along with the Breeze, there is now enough music to keep seniors in Viagra for millennia! How I'd been missing the crackle and hiss of analog. I was stiff for over an hour last night.
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