h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I still haven't done my homework but I come with gifts

*lugs in crate of wine and some baked beans*

I have chosen some flavours by memories of drinking them, there is rhubarb, blackberry, plum, elderberry, gooseberry, and quince

only blackberry involves maths, and geology, and camping in Cornwall, maths wise in that assignment, there was someone diving, I could calculate the density of the moon (I think). My sea level rises were dodge, seriously, everyone up Everest in 50 years, but at least I realised I had decimal points astray. It was a nice sun rise that morning and the tasted good

anyway, enough of me whittleing on, CC is away I see, I have taken some empty bottles for refilling but should we put out some recycling for her

Morning all! In fact (checks inner sundial), it is afternoon.



Ah splendid! (approvingly checks crate of wine and beans). Excellent for the brain!! The camping trip sounds cosmic. .

(sips the blackberry wine, hoping for further powers to calculate the density of the moon, and to add a shine to the inner sundial, and some other things).

The other day, at 10.09 am, I suddendly understood simple equations. Weird. I hadn't been thinking about them, (I am upcountry on a family visit), then presto! there was the truth all luminous and numerical, dancing behind mine eyes, and there was an equals sign also. What? An equals sign, dancing before mine very eyes.

(sips blackberry)

I must change postings! So's I can read Maria's posting.....

And today! yes! is Maria's piece in ?

Hola Maria!

There's an h2g2 maths libarary!? How amazing! (sips blackberry wine).

I had better not drink too much of this .... have to behave myself in libraries. heheh.

Must check Raymond Queneau.

Speak soon!

I must return soon to discuss the habits of seagulls. I am on the South East UK coast right now, and the seagulls are acting weird. They are massing on rooftops in the middle of the night and departing just before dawn .....


Good maths practice, count the gulls ...

Brighton England

Two four six eight ten... multiply by a hundred ..been counting gulls. They are massing on the roof. help! help! the birds are taking over.

It's the nesting season, apparently. They like a building. Better than a cliff, less predators. Don't argue with them, because they are protecting their chikky chicks. I thought chikky chicks were born in the Spring? hmm. I won't argue with them. I will tell them that I like their kids, that they are handsome like their parents, so please don't peck me. .

I feel like I'm in the Daphne du Maurier short story, entitled The Birds. One could become paranoid.

Hitchcock's film of the same title is based on this short story, but his Birds were in California, I think, and Daphne's birds were in Cornwall, I think.



I have taken to reciting peculiar poetry into a voice processor thingy that I just got hold of. Sing or speak into the mic, and you can add harmonies and things. It's very subtle, except for one geeky setting called robot, which sounds like Marvin .

I like the robot setting. I changed the parameters to make it sound arty. It should be grateful, but it isn't.

I think I might fire it from the band, because it just told me that my lyrics sound like the work of the sort of person who recites peculiar poetry into voice processors, whilst sitting in a building that has been completely obliterated by urban seagulls.

I like the idea of a 'person who recites peculiar poetry into voice processors, whilst sitting in a building that has been completely obliterated by urban seagulls'. The image that this conjures up has a kind of mad and mournful beauty to it.

The Brighton seagulls must be well and truly mixed up. Surely spring is the usual nesting season? Are you sure they're not just staking their claim to a nice warm bit of roof before a cold winter sets in? After all, if you're a seagull, it must be warmer sitting on someone's roof than on a windy cliff.

I haven't tried counting seagulls, but I have counted butterflies. But, as one is very much like another , and they flit from flower to flower, how do you know you haven't counted them twice?

And that's without your slow gin!

heheh, yes, and with the slow gin each butterfly is multiplied by seven. . .

I love that, counting butterflies.

Counting Butterflies

I just saw the ghost of a story there....then it disappeared around the corner, just out of reach. Come back ghost, who are you? The ghost of the story wears a shirt of floral design, and has an atmosphere of smiles and dusty summers ...




heheh. Yes, the last crazy echo, the stuttered poetry, before the Birds peck peck pecked at the tape machine ...I will miss these Birds, though, if I ever get out of here, hopefully later today. .



I am immersed in sound patterns right now ... working with a sampler and voice effects is ... is .... maths! It is??? Erm .. yes! yes! Maths is everywhere. Slicing and filtering and mixing and rearranging the soundwaves ... add the beat and count the butterflies!

Of course, the Beats were into sonic experimentation, way before digital technology was even a glint in its father's eye.

Brion Gysin, William Burroughs ... sitting in their shabby rooms in the Beat Hotel in Paris with their reel to reel tape machines, slicing tape, creating otherworldly loops and mixes and timeflips....

Timeflips? I don't know what timeflips are ... ...

Incredibly interesting and arty posting alert ...



The sonic experiments are going well. They are almost-mathematical and one day they might become music. . hmm.

The daydream spirits, the ghosts of the daydreams I am yet to have, tell me that they could enjoy my music if I would only shuddup at 2am because the sound disturbs their headache. However, they dance in a peculiar, yet celebratory way, dressed in stripes and cuban heels.

.

Sometimes I wonder if the sonic frequency, the vibration of creation (ooh good rhyme) is always there in the atmosphere, and we can tap into it any time we want, in any moment.

Perhaps channeling the vibration of creation is like working with technology. I have to regulate the brain filters, keep the beat and check the balance. The pain of the world might have a sharp pitch, an uneasy frequency, which could make my ears bleed.

And then, from out of the mash and mush and the static and the fizz, can come forth new mixes, new patterns, and words can get in there.

And the sonic frequency of fried eggs.

And things of beauty, and of hopeful and gracious intent.

The potential for original creation, for new paintings, in every moment, is to me a beautiful thought.Yes!

Like the pattern of a million smiles, wrapped in lace and azure whispers. In G minor.

Or the bewildering crimson meltdown of the lurid yet lovely sunset reflected in the windows of the supermarket.

Ah yes.

End of incredibly interesting and arty posting.

.

cc

oh good grief, dives under table with slow gin

*begs* please don't experiment with the sonic frequency of , I have visions of all over the world and possibly beyond exploding in a very splattery way

everything else sounds way cool

Beware particularly of the exploding eggs from beyond this world ... ... .. ... who needs a meteorite shower? heheh. A nice night of egg-gazing, ah there explodes the friedegg from the constellation known as Egg, Chips and Beans.

Splat!In E minor.

Captain...I think we have a problem in engineering...

Before y'all go exploding s all over the cosmos, you need to see this video. I mean, you *really* need to see this video...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HcEx3h02epQ



(It's just such a CC thing to do...)

*shudders* I read a nice night of egg glazing, I haven't got over the splattering yet

*slurps on sloe gin, checks baked bean provisions*

I can't get the link, my computer at fault, but there is egg seperation on the cards, that could be interesting from an observational point of view

splat! in E minor but seperated into yolk and white

*tries to imagine how that would sound*

This is a cactuscafe poem. It's what I come up with if I run some of these amazing posts together.

To understand maths, go camping
in Cornwall. Pick blackberries, share
nights of wine and baked beans.

To calculate the moon’s density,
polish your inner sundial, watch
the truth appear behind your eyes.

To consider the habits of seagulls,
recite poetry into a voice processor,
as they crowd the urban rooftops
at night, only to depart at dawn.

To tell a story, look for a ghost
in a shirt of floral design,
as you count the butterflies
in a dusty summer, but beware
the slow gin, sloe gin.

To tame the daydream ghosts,
play music after midnight,
watch them celebrate and dance
in stripes and cuban heels.

To create new patterns of beauty,
check the balance of the world’s pain,
that sings with a high pitch, uneasy
frequency. Out of mush and static
come a million smiles, azure whispers
wrapped in an air in G minor.

Very MVP.

I love that video. . That's so great, and what a delightful lady.



I will definitely try that at home, should I ever need to separate the yolk from the white. hmm. Except I never cook. I will have to get Peanut to give me some nocturnal egg glazing lessons. . It is best to glaze eggs between the hours of 2 and 5 am.

Wait! I must change postings, there are more delights here in my inbox.

Hullo Elektra sweetie my friend! I haven't said hullo in ages. Here, luv, have a glass of slow gin.

Hah! And mvp poetlady is at it again! That is so special, mvp, thanks and what an honour. Check those subtle rhythms, check the poetic way the sentences flow together,that is just so beautiful, so sweetly poetic I think I might eat it. No, maybe I won't eat it. It is just so delicious. OK, I will recite it, and weave it into a music mix. Copyright acknowledged of course.

I am so lucky.

cc

That's a beautiful poem, MVP.

It's as much your copyright as mine,cc! It's mvp's variations on a theme by cactuscafe and Peanut.

I've just been listening to Leonard Cohen's Anthem. Do you know it?

'Forget your perfect offering
there is a crack, a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in.'

I love that.

Well, , but I think I would still say that this poem was written by a poet-friend of mine, so that's why it sounds really good. .

I love Anthem! It is one of my all time favourite Cohen songs. Says it all. Breaks me open. I cry every time I hear it. What a line, eh? Says it all.

Leonard Cohen's poetry took me all the way through the 70s, and into the 80s, the breakdown years. Would I have survived those aching fevered nights (clutches brow intensely) without it? Hmm.

Perhaps we should hold an evening of poetry and music.

With or and slow gin.

Friedeggs s will be served in the interval. Glazed or unglazed? Depends if we are on a late nighter or not. .

I love it! The Hootoo Revue! It's a plan.

So good to mix ideas and inspirations.