Maybe I'll start missing the music questions before long. This is a science question from Nancy Schoenwolf:
Well, I guess you've never seen the ending of the Disney movie.
Hope that clear things up. Simple, right? You go to hell trapped in the bod of a robot that no kid born in the last fifteen years ago would take seriously now. Either that or you go spinning through some weird hall of mirrors. Honestly, why did I find science so tough in school?
Seriously, with my assorted manias and weak eyes, I am too transfixed on getting by in the small world to even wrap my head around a subject as big as this. For me, a black hole may as well be a dark room. I was reminded of this at the Kaji Aso Studio last night for the reception before the Boston National Poetry Month event today at the Public Library at Copley Square. I had to use the restroom quickly, and I was led to an unlit one, where I had to fumble around with the door open in the near-dark for five minutes before a staff member came by and reached for the chain hanging a few inches over my head. This not only made me feel bad about my eyesight (and general observational powers) but also fed my paranoia that I am shrinking as I grow older.
What do I hope is really on the other side of a black hole? An unobstructed light switch!
Speaking of the poetry festival, I'm at it right noww, and Chris Warner is killing, so I'll just end off with this poem regarding the movie above (which I still enjoy as an adult, don't laugh young people).
Update: Submitting this poem to a special journal. Here's hoping.
What is on the other side of the Black Hole?
Well, I guess you've never seen the ending of the Disney movie.
Hope that clear things up. Simple, right? You go to hell trapped in the bod of a robot that no kid born in the last fifteen years ago would take seriously now. Either that or you go spinning through some weird hall of mirrors. Honestly, why did I find science so tough in school?
Seriously, with my assorted manias and weak eyes, I am too transfixed on getting by in the small world to even wrap my head around a subject as big as this. For me, a black hole may as well be a dark room. I was reminded of this at the Kaji Aso Studio last night for the reception before the Boston National Poetry Month event today at the Public Library at Copley Square. I had to use the restroom quickly, and I was led to an unlit one, where I had to fumble around with the door open in the near-dark for five minutes before a staff member came by and reached for the chain hanging a few inches over my head. This not only made me feel bad about my eyesight (and general observational powers) but also fed my paranoia that I am shrinking as I grow older.
What do I hope is really on the other side of a black hole? An unobstructed light switch!
Speaking of the poetry festival, I'm at it right noww, and Chris Warner is killing, so I'll just end off with this poem regarding the movie above (which I still enjoy as an adult, don't laugh young people).
Update: Submitting this poem to a special journal. Here's hoping.
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