#Space
Andromeda has got that star cloud twinkle. Je t’aime.
Look at this beautiful sumbitch. Ain’t no party like a spiral galaxy party. Or something. Hit the textual mute on me and bask in the prettiness If you stroke it, it purrs.
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Video: NASA animations follows the birth and death of a disk galaxy.
Do you want to follow the development of a disk galaxy, starting right up at the Big Bang? The answer is of course you want to. Enjoy some mid-afternoon existential toggling. Kindly reminding you that shit does not matter.
EARTH-SIZED planet found in Alpha Centauri? I’ll take it!
Goddamn! Get down, get down. Astro-wizards have found an “Earth-sized” planet in Alpha Centauri. If you don’t think this is the berries, good sir or madam, you don’t know poop about squat.
Planet with FOUR SUNS found. Tatooine officially offers nothing.
Well shoot. Back in the day Tatooine could get by being a piece of shit desert world because it offered the novelty of two suns. Insert binary sunset. Now it doesn’t have anything to fall back upon. Researches have found a planet for four suns. A planet that farts on Tatooine will kissing its mother. A tragic tale.
This spiral nebula ia sexy Milky Way sculpture.
Behold this gorgeous spiral structure rocking out new a local Milky Way star. Is it truly local? Cripes, yo. Relativity is everything. I reckon I’m relatively close to you, when you consider how far away from the center of the Universe we all are. Just picture me breathing on your neck.
Rotating 3D nebula is just the space porn needed to end long weekend.
Hell yeah! Look at this, for it is the berries. Delicious, rotating 3D nebula berries.
SPACE JUNK is a problem. Solution? Ballistic gas clouds. Oh, humans.
Got a problem? Blow it the fuck up! Such is the mantra of the Western world, and at the very worst results have been mixed. We’re taking our tried and true method to space now, folks. There is a lot of junk up there, and certainly there is only one way to dispose of it. By explodey-time.
NASA is engineering space bugs to make bricks on Mars. Reread that. Ridiculous.
The future is here, and Ray Bradbury is spanking it beyond the grave. So it isn’t exactly willing an atmosphere into existence like Martian Chronicles, but NASA is up to some pretty goddamn spectacular stuff.
Monday Morning Commute: moonbeam death-child
He’d read all about Transcender’s journey to Saturn, and the havoc that was wreaked upon that that hotel. It upset his constitution to think that the System’s savior, the genetically-perfected designed to fend off nether-threats, could be derailed so easily. And by such trifles, nonetheless. Alcohol. Women. Drug-beams. All of the vices that, according to many, had done in Earth in the first place.
To the moonbeam death-child, Transcender Yonder had lost his way. Which may have been true. But as seven-year old, there ain’t no way he could understand Transcender’s appreciate of fine pussy and bourbon.
Headphones clamped on tight, the moonbeam death-child tried to tune out his negative thoughts. Rather than dwell on the various ways he’d like to torture Earth’s mightiest drunkard – testicle-electrocution, force-fed glass sandwiches, and atomic bombings at the top of the list – he made his peace with the omniverse. Heck, three songs in, the moonbeam death-child laughed at the thought that people didn’t always realize that music aligns the brainwaves to the same frequencies that neutrinos use to slip between dimensions.
How comical!
So relaxed by the music was the child that he fell into a deep slumber. So relaxed was this slumber that he didn’t notice the blanket being draped over his listless frame. And so gentle was the draping that he smiled the hearty grin of the runt who’s looked after by the alpha male.
Transcender Yonder was finally home, and was glad to see that his moonbeam death-child, whether or not he’d admit it, didn’t hate him.
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Thanks for checking out the Monday Morning Commute! This is the spot where I ramble about the make-believe and the real-believe alike, sharing with you the various ways I’ll be entertaining myself throughout the workweek. After you peep my means of destroying ennui, hit up the comments section and share yours. C’mon, you know how it is – work sucks, life rules, let’s party until we’re dead!
Are you ready to rock?
Richard Branson is determined to “start a population ON MARS.” Bradburyriffic.
Richard Branson wants to start a population on Mars. Fuck. Fuck yeah! Here is to eccentric white dudes with a ridiculous amount of money doing something solid. You go Branson, and you get this shit done.
