An Imperial Message

“The Emperor — so they say — has sent a message, directly from his death bed, to you alone, his pathetic subject, a tiny shadow which has taken refuge at the furthest distance from the imperial sun. He ordered the herald to kneel down beside his bed and whispered the message in his ear.

*

He thought it was so important that he had the herald speak it back to him. He confirmed the accuracy of verbal message by nodding his head. And in front of the entire crowd of those witnessing his death — all the obstructing walls have been broken down, and all the great ones of his empire are standing in a circle on the broad and high soaring flights of stairs — in front of all of them he dispatched his herald.

The messenger started off at once, a powerful, tireless man. Sticking one arm out and then another, he makes his way through the crowd. If he runs into resistance, he points to his breast where there is a sign of the sun. So he moves forwards easily, unlike anyone else. But the crowd is so huge; its dwelling places are infinite. If there were an open field, how he would fly along, and soon you would hear the marvelous pounding of his fist on your door.

But instead of that, how futile are all his efforts. He is still forcing his way through the private rooms of the innermost palace. Never will he win his way through. And if he did manage that, nothing would have been achieved. He would have to fight his way down the steps, and, if he managed to do that, nothing would have been achieved. He would have to stride through the courtyards, and after the courtyards through the second palace encircling the first, and, then again, through stairs and courtyards, and then, once again, a palace, and so on for thousands of years. And if he finally burst through the outermost door — but that can never, never happen — the royal capital city, the centre of the world, is still there in front of him, piled high and full of sediment. No one pushes his way through here, certainly not someone with a message from a dead man.

But you sit at your window and dream of that message when evening comes.”

Franz Kafka, translated by Ian Johnston

Dimanche

Bruno Schulz, 1934

“J’ai besoin d’un compagnon. De la présence d’un humain apparenté. D’une confirmation quelconque du monde intérieur dont je postule l’existence.

Maintenir constamment cet univers sur ma seule foi, le supporter envers et contre tout avec la seule force de ma défiance – c’est la tâche d’un Atlas. Parfois, j’ai l’impression que la courbe de mon dos fatigué ne supporte plus rien. Je voudrais, ne serait-ce qu’un instant, déposer ce poids sur les épaules d’un autre, me redresser pour voir ce que je portais.

J’ai besoin d’un complice des découvertes. Lorsqu’un risque impossible, un caprice insensé pour un seul homme, se réflète dans quatre yeux, il devient une réalité.

On dirait que le monde attend cette rencontre: jusque là fermé, étroit, sans autres projets – il se remplit de couleurs lointaines, il commence à se briser et à s’ouvrir en profondeur. Les prospections qui n’étaient que des dessins se déploient et se séparent en perspectives réelles, le mur nous laisse passer vers des dimensions auparavant inatteignables, les fresques tracées dans le ciel deviennent une pantonime vivante.”

traduction libre du polonais

Speed of light

According to the current theory in physics, we will never be able to attain the speed of light. We can try to approach it, but the closer we get, the more the world seems to escape us…

Other simulations can be found here and here.

Some physicists actually managed to prove that faster than light particles could exist. But there is one condition attached to that: they would have to remain faster than light forever.

So what exactly happens at the speed of light? This way of traveling is reserved exclusively for massless particles – such as photons. And that’s the only speed they can have.

As we observe them, they keep their mystery. We can measure their energy and a few physical properties, but if we try to see the world from a photon’s point of view, the equations break: time and space become undefined.

Singularité

Selon une certaine prophétie, le jour où les hommes parviendront à une compréhension totale et complète de l’univers et de ses lois, celui-ci disparaîtra instantanément.

À sa place, un autre univers sera créé, celui-là tout-à-fait illogique et incompréhensible.

Selon une autre prophétie, en fait c’est déjà arrivé.

Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy ____ (de mémoire)

Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer

Tableau de Van Gogh. Un des bateaux s’appelle Amitié.

Quelle est la meilleure définition du temps? Si vous cherchez la réponse dans la littérature, vous allez trouver beaucoup d’arabesques philosophiques… Or il y a très longtemps, Aristote a déjà dit quelque chose de succint et assez proche de la science contemporaine:

Time is the moving image of eternity

Le soleil d’Icare

Il existe une version de la légende où Icare n’est pas mort en tombant dans la mer. Il aurait vécu le reste de sa vie caché dans les profondeurs.

Un monde de nuit, de paysages oubliés et de villes inachevées…

La seule lumière qui s’y rendait parfois provenait des reflets égarés à la surface de l’eau. Tous les habitants passaient leur temps à dormir.

En arrivant, Icare troubla le sommeil de ces âmes tranquilles. Il leur raconta les histoires terrestres, leur parla de son voyage, de la clarté du jour…

Son récit réveilla les imaginations. On ne se lassa pas de l’écouter.

Les générations qui suivirent élèverent ses paroles au rang d’un mythe, puis d’une religion. On fit de son corps une icône, on lui redessina des ailes.

Mais personne n’est allée voir en haut.