I’ve tried out a few e-reader services, and while I like Apple’s iBooks the best when it comes to design, I’ve settled on Kobo as my primary reader. Why? It’s partially the ability to read on any device (seriously, Apple? No laptop option?), but mainly it has to do with Kobo’s approach to business and their respect for readers. See, for an example, the eReaders Bill of Rights.

We sent messages to the aliens, to see if there were aliens. We filled the void of space with television — Nazi rallies and I Love Lucy. We filled the silence with radio signals. We launched spacecraft in search of the heavens, and we filled them with our memories, or at least what we wanted our memories to be. Gold records. Whale songs. Bach and da Vinci. Greetings from people long dead. We beamed fractals and computer programs in every direction. We called out in our own languages, in the languages of mathematics, in the languages of colours. We called out in all the frequencies we could find.

We said over and over, we are here. Come find us. Please.

And we waited for an answer. We listened for radio signals in response. We filled our deserts with Seti arrays to catch whispers from the stars. We scanned the stars and the spaces in between for laser beacons, for the slightest flicker of light that signified something. Anything. We created optical telescopes and spectrometers that had no other use than to study the atmosphere of other planets, searching for some trick of life. We waited for an answer.

It came, as answers usually do, in destruction. An asteroid storm of ice chunks that destroyed most of our satellites at once. Debris tore apart the space station and one of the secret military spacecraft. They made more debris. Our astronauts screamed their own messages into the vacuum. Our sky was ruin and blood.

But then we saw the pattern in the constellations of wreckage. The order forming out of the chaos. Signal emerging out of noise. A message was hidden in their decaying orbits. Our scientists and code breakers worked for lifetimes trying to decipher it, before the signs burned up in the fires of our atmosphere. And then we finally understood it. A new form of binary. A binary of destruction expressed in the remains of our spacecraft and the quantum emptiness they moved through. We didn’t know where the message had come from. We didn’t know what it meant. All we knew is what it said.

we were like you once

Here’s a few of the things I’ve been browsing on the web this week when I should have been working.

– The Science Tattoo Emporium. I like this site almost as much as Contrariwise: Literary Tattoos.

– The mystery of Challenger Deep. This article about the sequel to Avatar led me to watch this video documentary about how solving the mysteries of Challenger Deep led scientists to understood how plate tectonics work. Fascinating stuff.

– Geometric sociology: BLDGBLOG+Christoph Gielen (+Pynchon) = a study of the shapes our inhabited spaces make

– Holy f… Woman cut in half to remove her cancer. Great story, but, ah, I’m squirming.

– The Erotic Monster Manual. Yep, I looked at every entry.

– 13,000 satellites orbit the earth. Who is watching the watchers? Google.

– The guerilla war against guerilla advertising. Now if only they could do something about spam followers.

I want to find a way to write about the Odessa catacombs in some future book/story. What a fascinating place.

We sent messages to the aliens, to see if there were aliens. We filled the void of space with television — Nazi rallies and I Love Lucy. We filled the silence with radio signals. We launched spacecraft in search of the heavens, and we filled them with our memories, or at least what we wanted our memories to be. Gold records. Whale songs. Bach and da Vinci. Greetings from people long dead. We beamed fractals and computer programs in every direction. We called out in our own languages, in the languages of mathematics, in the languages of colours. We called out in all the frequencies we could find.

We said over and over, we are here. Come find us. Please.

And we waited for an answer. We listened for radio signals in response. We filled our deserts with Seti arrays to catch whispers from the stars. We scanned the stars and the spaces in between for laser beacons, for the slightest flicker of light that signified something. Anything. We created optical telescopes and spectrometers that had no other use than to study the atmosphere of other planets, searching for some trick of life. We waited for an answer.

It came, as answers usually do, in destruction. An asteroid storm of ice chunks that destroyed most of our satellites at once. Debris tore apart the space station and one of the secret military spacecraft. They made more debris. Our astronauts screamed their own messages into the vacuum. Our sky was ruin and blood.

But then we saw the pattern in the constellations of wreckage. The order forming out of the chaos. Signal emerging out of noise. A message was hidden in their decaying orbits. Our scientists and code breakers worked for lifetimes trying to decipher it, before the signs burned up in the fires of our atmosphere. And then we finally understood it. A new form of binary. A binary of destruction expressed in the remains of our spacecraft and the quantum emptiness they moved through. We didn’t know where the message had come from. We didn’t know what it meant. All we knew is what it said.

we wish you better luck than us

I don’t think I’ve ever beaten my wife in a game of Gloom. Disconcerting.

We sent messages to the aliens, to see if there were aliens. We filled the void of space with television — Nazi rallies and I Love Lucy. We filled the silence with radio signals. We launched spacecraft in search of the heavens, and we filled them with our memories, or at least what we wanted our memories to be. Gold records. Whale songs. Bach and da Vinci. Greetings from people long dead. We beamed fractals and computer programs in every direction. We called out in our own languages, in the languages of mathematics, in the languages of colours. We called out in all the frequencies we could find.

We said over and over, we are here. Come find us. Please.

And we waited for an answer. We listened for radio signals in response. We filled our deserts with Seti arrays to catch whispers from the stars. We scanned the stars and the spaces in between for laser beacons, for the slightest flicker of light that signified something. Anything. We created optical telescopes and spectrometers that had no other use than to study the atmosphere of other planets, searching for some trick of life. We waited for an answer.

It came, as answers usually do, in destruction. An asteroid storm of ice chunks that destroyed most of our satellites at once. Debris tore apart the space station and one of the secret military spacecraft. They made more debris. Our astronauts screamed their own messages into the vacuum. Our sky was ruin and blood.

But then we saw the pattern in the constellations of wreckage. The order forming out of the chaos. Signal emerging out of noise. A message was hidden in their decaying orbits. Our scientists and code breakers worked for lifetimes trying to decipher it, before the signs burned up in the fires of our atmosphere. And then we finally understood it. A new form of binary. A binary of destruction expressed in the remains of our spacecraft and the quantum emptiness they moved through. We didn’t know where the message had come from. We didn’t know what it meant. All we knew is what it said.

thank you for the warning

We sent messages to the aliens, to see if there were aliens. We filled the void of space with television — Nazi rallies and I Love Lucy. We filled the silence with radio signals. We launched spacecraft in search of the heavens, and we filled them with our memories, or at least what we wanted our memories to be. Gold records. Whale songs. Bach and da Vinci. Greetings from people long dead. We beamed fractals and computer programs in every direction. We called out in our own languages, in the languages of mathematics, in the languages of colours. We called out in all the frequencies we could find.

We said over and over, we are here. Come find us. Please.

And we waited for an answer. We listened for radio signals in response. We filled our deserts with Seti arrays to catch whispers from the stars. We scanned the stars and the spaces in between for laser beacons, for the slightest flicker of light that signified something. Anything. We created optical telescopes and spectrometers that had no other use than to study the atmosphere of other planets, searching for some trick of life. We waited for an answer.

It came, as answers usually do, in destruction. An asteroid storm of ice chunks that destroyed most of our satellites at once. Debris tore apart the space station and one of the secret military spacecraft. They made more debris. Our astronauts screamed their own messages into the vacuum. Our sky was ruin and blood.

But then we saw the pattern in the constellations of wreckage. The order forming out of the chaos. Signal emerging out of noise. A message was hidden in their decaying orbits. Our scientists and code breakers worked for lifetimes trying to decipher it, before the signs burned up in the fires of our atmosphere. And then we finally understood it. A new form of binary. A binary of destruction expressed in the remains of our spacecraft and the quantum emptiness they moved through. We didn’t know where the message had come from. We didn’t know what it meant. All we knew is what it said.

we are coming

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Now it’s nap time for you!

Perhaps the aliens are aware of us, but simply indifferent.