Skylight Covered With Snow

Heat rises? No, hot air exchanges places with colder, denser, heavier (more gravity-prone) air.

In this case, an electric radiator heats the space around it, resulting in a rippling effect distorting my view of the 5-7 inches of snow on the back deck between me and the airspace over the radiator.

A redheaded woodpecker works on freeing up peanut butter spread onto and soaked into bread stuffed into a suet feeder.

I wear a knit cap advertising the Munster rugby team.

Icicles form along the edge of house gutters.

Tonight, the penned ultimate annual showdown of officially anointed collegiate football teams that meet in the desert to demonstrate how young men can be convinced to display warrior traits in simulated battle situations.

Can we remember being 18 to 22 years old and representing?

There will comparisons between men on that field of play to a man in Tucson and men in real battle situations elsewhere.

Maturity and concentration play key roles today.

And I have to consider the weight of these words.

I assume no one reads them because they are the random mumblings of an old man rambling through memories, observations of current events and intentionally obscure nonsense to show that in total this is a set of satirical humour to offset so much seriousness in our lives.

States of energy can be simulated in their actions by algorithms only when we remove our anthropocentric anthropomorphic tendencies.

Life is life, being neither exclusively scientific nor inclusively religious.

I am a tired old man today but I am happy.

Tired of the obstinate conflicts but happy that we often find ways to resolve them.

The only way I know how, through keeping tabs on our tendencies, tweaking and adjusting the simulations of ourselves as much as the changing limited parameters representing your free will will let me.

I'm me, a body decaying like the sounds of a rung bell.

These are chapters in a story that goes on and on like a writer with ADD who can't stay on subject for very long.

I see the outline that determines the general flow of the railroad cars of short stories and poems connected in a network of narratives that every writer works with to entertain readers, paying or mooching.

Imagery.

Take this for anything more than that and you've entered the twilight zone of your own thought set, not mine.

The best stories use your thoughts as props.

That's why religious books like the Bible, the Quran and the Bhagavad Gita are so convincing.

Give form to unformulated thoughts.

The thermometer tells me the air should smell like it's 54 deg F.

Observe and report.

No witchcraft involved.

Although it can feel like magic sometimes.

Pray/meditate and accept that whatever happens is supposed to happen because it did.

I don't control anything in this world. The accepted concept of "I," that seems to come so easy to a thoughtful conclusion without much consideration in the moment, is the result of years of exposure to testable theories.

I am alive as a system of systems because the systems have no autonomy. They cooperate (or co-operate, if you will accept a hyphenated unhyphenated word as an obvious reference).

Plagiarism is not flattering and it tends to flatten the fullness of the original.

Time to read a report and look for places to drop pebbles in the pond where we bond together.

Is humour a sense like smelling or a type of observation as in a sense of humour?