"For the case of the horizon around a black hole, observers stationary with respect to a distant object will all agree on where the horizon is. While this seems to allow an observer lowered towards the hole on a rope to contact the horizon, in practice this cannot be done. If the observer is lowered very slowly, then, in the observer's frame of reference, the horizon appears to be very far away, and ever more rope needs to be paid out to reach the horizon. If the observer is lowered quickly, then indeed the observer, and some of the rope can touch and even cross the (distant lowerer's) event horizon. If the rope is pulled taut to fish the observer back out, then the forces along the rope increase without bound as they approach the event horizon, and at some point the rope must break. Furthermore, the break must occur not at the event horizon, but at a point where the lowerer can observe it." -- en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Event_horizon

It all sounds really complicated doesn't it? Well it really isn't. Our eyes can be deceiving. As said, a stationary observer, they can see where the horizon is. However, when moved the perception seems to change, they might think that they are getting closer to it. Or it appears to move away from them, as if it physically moves. But the horizon still stays motionless.

"As with the example of pulling the rope taunt to pull back the observer, the rope is forced to break at some point because the force of the pull on the rope increases with no boundaries. Attempting to make an object approaching the horizon remain stationary with respect to an observer requires applying a force whose magnitude becomes unbounded (becoming infinite) the closer it gets. This is because the horizon-crossing event's light cone never intersects the observer's world line. It's like one of those dreams that you have, where no matter how fast and hard you run, you never reach your destination." -- en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Event_horizon

So have you an event horizon? An unreachable "light cone" that seems to never intersect with your "world line"?

Life has a way of distracting us, by changing our perceptions. While the fast paced observer appears to pass the event horizon, they pass so quickly, that they missed the event, to coin a pun. But those that are the slow moving observers, their "event horizon" always appears to be so far away that they can never reach it. But if they let out some of the rope, to move closer to it, their "event horizon" appears to move further away from them.

The daring observer when getting to close pulls back. Their "lifeline" rope then is forced to break with their "infinite" force. Where that then takes them is limitless. They could reach their "event horizon" but at the same time they could be sucked into their own "black hole".

What is your event horizon?
What is your black hole?
In reaching your event horizon, do you come close to your black hole?
And is the risk of your black hole worth reaching your event horizon?

May U Live 2 See The Dawn

"You know what they say, the older the berry the sweeter the juice."

"Man that's the blacker the berry the sweeter the juice."

"Oh well yeah, she blacker than a mother-fucker too."

I wrote this quite a while back.  Can't remember the specific date.  It was one evening when the children were already asleep and I was in the kitchen reading Thomas Harris' Hannibal Rising.  I remember telling Mrs. W when she came into the kitchen to get something -- that I wished I could write as well as Thomas Harris, but not feel like such a disturbed person.  She told me to write something, right then.  This is what came out . . .

He told her that if she would not comply the answer would be ugly and vicious.  He hated the smell of blood on a woman.  The foul stench of uncleanness.  The thing that he hated most was her perceived delicacy.  No woman was delicate.  They were filth to be consumed.  Deep within himself he felt a loathing at her presence.  There was something about her that troubled him.  Was it that women wanted respect?  That they wanted to be touched?  Loved?  Disgusting it was to him.  The foul stench of her.  It was like the stench of death.  A death that he would not be a part of.  But perhaps if he consumed her.  Rid the world of the stench of this heathen bitch.  Yes, then the world would thank him.  Embrace him and sing him praises for his service.  Serves her right.  Foul bitch.  Laugh at him will she.  Well he would taste flesh between his teeth.  And the warm oozing of her blood in his cheeks.  He would have the last laugh.

Here is a bit from Thomas Harris' Hannibal Rising --

Hannibal stopped.  "You inquired about her pussy, I believe.  You speculated that it ran which way?"

"Is she your mother?  Jap pussy runs crossways!  You should fuck the little Jap and see."

Paul came scuttling fast, his great hands up to crush, and Hannibal in one movement drew the curved sword from the lute case and slashed Paul low across the belly.

"Crossways like that?"

The butcher's scream rang off the trees and the birds flew with a rush.  Paul put his hands on himself and they came away covered with thick blood.  He looked down at the wound and tried to hold himself together, intestines spilling in his hands, getting away from him.  Hannibal stepping to the side and turning with the blow slashed Paul across the kidneys.

"Or more tangential to the spine?"

Swinging the sword the make X's in Paul now, Paul's eyes wide in shock, the butcher trying to run, caught across the clavicle, an arterial hiss that splatters Hannibal's face.  The next two blows sliced him behind the ankles and he went down hamstrung and bellowing like a steer.

Now that is good writing . . .

 

 . . . I'll still share this story with you.

I was reminded of this experience the other night when catching part of a program on television.  I was passing through the living room, from taking trash outside, and stopped when the image of a stripper appeared on the television.  I stopped to watch for reasons less then noble.  At this particular point in the program, this stripper was trying to put on a show for this guy.  Well upon her taking off her top, the man just all of sudden started crying.  When she inquired as to what the matter was, he told her that he recognized her breasts because the doctor that had done them was a colleague of his and his colleague was the one that his wife left him for.  In the next scene he is show laying down with his head in her lap talking to her about the situation, still sobbing.  At this point another man comes to the door, and she says this is her next appointment.  As he passes the other man he says -- she's a really good listener.  The man just entering responds -- yeah buddy that's what I'm here for.  Freak.  That correspondence between those two men is what reminded me of this story of my own.

As much as I talk about women, and how much I thank the creator of the female form for doing such a damn good job, I'm not really into strip clubs.  Back when I was 21 and living on my own, many of my guy friends tried to drag me off to strip clubs.  I always declined, and ended up at a bar alone, drinking.  Well there was one friend in particular that insisted that I go with him, and called on the fact that he had installed the carburetor in my car for next to nothing.  Yeah he used the guilt trip.  It worked,  I decided I would go and see what the big deal was.  (Ogling women is always something that I preferred to do in private via pornography.  Besides obvious embarrassing physical responses to a naked women, it just felt embarrassed to fling money at a woman as she undresses herself.)

So there we were at a table in front of the dance floor.  My friend Jay, there throwing out money and getting particularly wasted.  I must have seemed disinterested.  I paid the woman mind, so as to not let her think that it was her that was uninteresting, and just not that I was uncomfortable.  But Jay knew.  He was a good friend, but he was the kind of guy to call you out when you were most uncomfortable, embarrassed, or in a bind.  He said he was going to get a drink, and latter returned with one.  Shortly after that a woman came up to the table and knelt beside me, and whispered something to me.

At that point I was a bit pissed at Jay.  He put me in a bad bind.  I didn't want a dance from this woman, because I just didn't.  But at the same time, I wouldn't turn her down.  I am not tooting my own horn saying that she would be devastated if I did.  But these women work hard for their money and that is no joke.  Their work is just as legitimate as any, and they suffer through a lot worse then most with the type of clientele they have.  So giving Jay an "I'm going to kick your ass" look, I followed the woman into another room.

She proceeded to start dancing, and of course (in Missouri) completely undress.  I stopped her by asking her something, which to say the least surprised the hell out of her.  I could tell by the look on her face.  I asked her -- do you ever get tired of getting naked for men who don't know you for who you are?  She momentarily stopped dancing and just kind of looked at me.  As if she really didn't know what to say.  So I continued -- I am not trying to demean your work in any way ma'am, but it strikes me that no one really asks you about you.  They only want to see you on the outside.  Finally she stopped altogether.  I asked her to come sit on the seat that I had just got up from.  She sat down.  I said -- you are very beautiful and I don't want you to think I am saying this because I don't think that you are, it's not that.

Finally she says -- I do this by choice and I make good money at it.  I said -- I'm sure you do ma'am, as I said you are a very beautiful woman.  But I can't in good conscience objectify a woman that I don't even know.  She answered that she did do this by choice because she did make good money doing it, and it did not bother her to be objectified by strange men.

A conversation in sued where we talked about everything from human sexuality to her endeavours to get through college and be a psychiatrist.

When I left and returned to the main floor, Jay asked me how she was.  I told him -- she's a beautiful woman inside and out.  You can find those things out about women if you talk to   them.  He called me a freak.  Funny.  He was such a "man". 

Stories like these are why I wonder why I still have a membership in the He-Man Woman Haters Club.  I wonder if Mr. Fisk will revoke my membership on reading this post.

And then I post pictures like this and you think that I am full of shit!  8-)  Don't get me wrong I appreciate the female form, but I won't objectify a woman based on her body.  That's the truth.  I mean it.

May U Live 2 See The Dawn