Category: Space
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Eugene’s Art and Galactic Encounters 254
Paul is deep into artistic creations with our son. Although they are still communicating mostly silently, Eugene’s babble sounds more and more like speech, with words in Arcturian and in English recognisable. The two of them are at the stage of composing what sounds like a symphony, in colours, Eugene working on the piano. In…
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Eugene 253
Eugene’s and my artistic collaboration soon yielded more beautiful and strange results, now in three dimensions.
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Memories Beneath the Moons: A Love Poem Reflection 245
I wrote this in 2014, the year I read 1Q84. Indeed this poem makes me think of Tengo and Aomame. The memory is so clear, even now—the chill of the water on our feet, the musky scent of the night air mingling with your perfume. Each step I take here, between the pull of the…
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Exploring Dimensions: The Moebius Strip and Creation 239
I laid down a thin strip of paper on the desk in front of me, and looked at the crowded amphitheater. “This humble symbolic two-dimensional object will suffice to illustrate the principle,” I told the audience. “Note that we are, for this purpose, neglecting the thickness of the paper, a practical trick, as genuine two-dimensional…
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Love and Legacy in a Cosmic Voyage 238
The narrative unfolds in a spacecraft where a man awakens alone yet comforted by the presence of his partner Anna and their son. It’s his birthday, symbolizing continuity amid vastness. Anna’s pride in their son, crafted from love, completes their family, transforming solitude into a shared journey toward new beginnings together.
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Third Foundation, Europa 236
Hari Seldon University, the hub of Psychohistory for natives of Earth, has its home on an artificial island on the frozen seas of Europa, named Aurora, from the newest Earth’s colony. As lecturer, soon to be promoted to full professorship, I have been allocated a cottage, in the middle of the vast forest that covers…
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Exploring Eternity: A Journey Beyond Stars 234
A soft hum suffuses the hollow of the balloon gondola—sound of oxygen faithfully recycled, of time consciously suspended. We are not young in the manner of those we left beneath the receding blue arc, but neither are we old; we are merely *continuous*. Our faces lit by consoles mapping constellations our children’s children will someday…
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