This is something that does exactly what it says on the (very large) tin.
Rather than make your own personal design of mug, or copies of Richard III's skull, the 11 Dimensional printer makes Universes to your own specification.
What you need is a very very high energy environment, and a method of producing an anti (or inverse) gravitational field that leaks back into the 11th dimension from where our gravity originates, according to theory.
The printer utilises the holes punched into Dimension Number 11 by the inverse gravitational force, and washes backwards and forwards across the interface forcing exotic particles through the divide, and into their new environment, an inflationary bubble within the brane multiverses; a new universe.
Customise your universe how you want. Do you want the value of Pi to be 4, or 2, or 222? No problem, the 11th dimensional printer can handle this. Do you want gravity to work backwards, a planet the size of Jupiter to be as light as a feather, and a feather itself to crush you if you try and stand up on it? All yours. Gold shall burn like coal, and lead balloons shall float to the edge of atmosphere like the dispersing seeds of a dandelion. Superstrings the size of bass strings shall vibrate the fundamental particles of your universe. And one day life shall evolve, and what oh what form shall it take?
It all depends what bits you throw in the mixer.
Copyright Bloody Mulberry 29/04/13
Monday, 29 April 2013
Sunday, 28 April 2013
CONCEPT - Sailing the interstellar wind
I was in a reflective mood the last couple of days, so I day dreamed myself out of the solar system, and set myself adrift on the winds of deep space; a silent lonely drift, but a perfectly peaceful one where you could enjoy the beautiful universe undisturbed for all eternity.
It is the case that as I write, Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 are in the process of crossing the Heliopause, the point at which the solar wind is overcome by the prevailing forces produced by the the stars and cosmic rays. Although arguments continue as to what degree if at all the craft have finally crossed it, this is regarded as the edge of the solar system, the beginning of deep, endless space.
And how would I like to explore it.
Of course, I cannot, but I dreamed up a vehicle that could. It would perhaps launch and journey outward like a Voyager, designed to produce high end science of whichever solar system bodies it encounters, and powered by an ion drive for long term thrust.
But as it crossed the Heliopause, marked by a change in "wind" direction and an increase in galactic cosmic rays, the nature of the craft would change. A set of gigantic, charged particle sensitive sails would emerge, thrust would be turned off, and the craft would use the gentle thrust of the prevailing radiation to sail down stream, out into interstellar space. It would feature a longer lasting nucelar power source than the Voyagers, enabling a more powerful transmitter to be used, enabling earth to remain in contact longer with the craft and perhaps the sails could be used to harness the power of cosmic rays and the solar wind to provide a little extra power.
And on and on, until the end of time, shall the interstellar ship sail upon the galactic trade winds, perhaps with my ashes upon it. Who knows?
Copyright Bloody Mulberry 28/04/13
It is the case that as I write, Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 are in the process of crossing the Heliopause, the point at which the solar wind is overcome by the prevailing forces produced by the the stars and cosmic rays. Although arguments continue as to what degree if at all the craft have finally crossed it, this is regarded as the edge of the solar system, the beginning of deep, endless space.
And how would I like to explore it.
Of course, I cannot, but I dreamed up a vehicle that could. It would perhaps launch and journey outward like a Voyager, designed to produce high end science of whichever solar system bodies it encounters, and powered by an ion drive for long term thrust.
But as it crossed the Heliopause, marked by a change in "wind" direction and an increase in galactic cosmic rays, the nature of the craft would change. A set of gigantic, charged particle sensitive sails would emerge, thrust would be turned off, and the craft would use the gentle thrust of the prevailing radiation to sail down stream, out into interstellar space. It would feature a longer lasting nucelar power source than the Voyagers, enabling a more powerful transmitter to be used, enabling earth to remain in contact longer with the craft and perhaps the sails could be used to harness the power of cosmic rays and the solar wind to provide a little extra power.
And on and on, until the end of time, shall the interstellar ship sail upon the galactic trade winds, perhaps with my ashes upon it. Who knows?
Copyright Bloody Mulberry 28/04/13
Friday, 26 April 2013
CONCEPT - The Solar Lighthouse
I was in a mood for thinking today, and as I sat scrawling in green biro in my notebook - like Kingsley Amis' demonic LS Caton - a few interesting ideas came to me as I stared at my fruity tea bag leaking bits like a demonstration of entropy.
Question; assuming we decide that the risk of "How to serve man" or rampaging martian tripod scenarios is low enough, how do we signal our existence to whatever lifeforms on Goldilocks zone planets there might be?
We can send space probes with cutesy drawings or gramaphone records on - bad luck if our aliens have reached the mp3 stage like we have - or we can wait for our radio and tv signals to leak out into space far enough, by which time they would be so weak as to be incomprehensible.
OR you could make our solar system into a lighthouse.
I figured, as I sat scrawling over my sievable cherry and vanilla tea, that you could costruct an enormous reflective surface, or perhaps rather a flexible array of many many mirrors, or even nano-reflectors (I'm not a scientist!). This orbits the sun in such a way that the sun is at the focus of the reflector, and thus its light can be beamed in selected directions. Perhaps a form of lensing could be added to intensify the light, I have no idea.
It would be perhaps best to site the array out above the north or south solar pole to avoid interfering with our sleeping rhythms and is out of the reach of most asteroids.
So yes, initially I thought this would be a method of sending powerful morse type signals to selected targets. You move the array around as required, and then control the signal by changing the alignment of the individual reflecting surfaces so at times they are perpendicular, essentially, to the sun's light. But then I also thought you could use it for perhaps lighting and warming selected solar system bodies, perhaps as part of a terraforming process.
Anything else? Well, it could provide impetus for a solar-sail powered craft. It could even, perhaps, deflect asteroids away from the earth by the phenomenon of radiation pressure. It cant be that much more far fetched than painting half of such an asteroid white to save humanity.
It might also be totally pointless, an impossible to construct folly borne of idle thought by a writer with a wonky cuppa. But I love thinking these things up! And (I hope) bigger cranks than me have changed the course of our existence...
Copyright Bloody Mulberry 26/04/2013
Question; assuming we decide that the risk of "How to serve man" or rampaging martian tripod scenarios is low enough, how do we signal our existence to whatever lifeforms on Goldilocks zone planets there might be?
We can send space probes with cutesy drawings or gramaphone records on - bad luck if our aliens have reached the mp3 stage like we have - or we can wait for our radio and tv signals to leak out into space far enough, by which time they would be so weak as to be incomprehensible.
OR you could make our solar system into a lighthouse.
I figured, as I sat scrawling over my sievable cherry and vanilla tea, that you could costruct an enormous reflective surface, or perhaps rather a flexible array of many many mirrors, or even nano-reflectors (I'm not a scientist!). This orbits the sun in such a way that the sun is at the focus of the reflector, and thus its light can be beamed in selected directions. Perhaps a form of lensing could be added to intensify the light, I have no idea.
It would be perhaps best to site the array out above the north or south solar pole to avoid interfering with our sleeping rhythms and is out of the reach of most asteroids.
So yes, initially I thought this would be a method of sending powerful morse type signals to selected targets. You move the array around as required, and then control the signal by changing the alignment of the individual reflecting surfaces so at times they are perpendicular, essentially, to the sun's light. But then I also thought you could use it for perhaps lighting and warming selected solar system bodies, perhaps as part of a terraforming process.
Anything else? Well, it could provide impetus for a solar-sail powered craft. It could even, perhaps, deflect asteroids away from the earth by the phenomenon of radiation pressure. It cant be that much more far fetched than painting half of such an asteroid white to save humanity.
It might also be totally pointless, an impossible to construct folly borne of idle thought by a writer with a wonky cuppa. But I love thinking these things up! And (I hope) bigger cranks than me have changed the course of our existence...
Copyright Bloody Mulberry 26/04/2013
Monday, 22 April 2013
Gorf - To a child, THE FUTURE
Compared to my grown up self, that is rather blase about computer games and gaming, the child version of me was absolutely enthralled by early video games. I remember first playing on a "Pong" cabinet in the Grand Hotel, Brodick in 1978, a holiday also memorable for me being banished from the hotel dining room after throwing up a chicken maryland all over it, many happy hours on a mini golf course, and the sheer upset of Scotland's world cup demise settling over Arran.
I was thrilled by Pong, to a Blakes 7 and Star Wars loving kid, this was space brought down to planet earth. Space Invaders was even more of a step up - lasers in a box! - and soon every chip shop in England had Galaxians bleeping away in a corner.
But my stepfather disapproved of such games, claming them to be a total waste of money and the past-time of dodgy youths. If ever we were at a motorway service station, my hopeful hanging around the games as they demoed away was always met with derision, not a single 10p coin was I ever given to feed to the intergalactic Moloch by the exits.
Heartbroken, I would pretend to play the demo, fingers on the buttons in hope the machine would spring to life beneath me. It never did. When we did get a Commodore 64 a few years later, only tedious educational software like dull as ditchwater "Gortek and the Microchips" was encouraged.
However, trips to stay with my father over in Manchester led to escape from videogame exile though. My father would take me to an early video game arcade in the guts of the Arndale complex in the centre of the city, near what I think was called Shambles Square. A modern entire glass fronted paradise, this arcade was neon lit, noisy, and full of the sounds of space.
And within its glass walls, lived GORF.
Gorf was incredible! Never mind Space Invaders with its boring left-right-fire buttons and monochrome graphics tinted by coloured perspex, Gorf was a cabinet of the universe beamed down to enrapture an 8 year old with its tricks. It had a massive, space ship joy stick, real colours that sprang out of the screen, and a craft that moved in TWO WHOLE DIMENSIONS rather than one.
More than that, it talked. It actually spoke to you.
It spoke to me a lot.
"BAD MOVE, SPACE CADET" it robotically intoned at me every time I got killed. Which was, like, about every thirty seconds. Despoite my excitement at them, I was rubbish at playing video games, always was, and probably still would be now. Many 10p coins my father gave me; many times I got balsted to bits without clearing so much a single level of aliens, all accompanied by Gorf's electronic taunts.
I didn't mind. I just loved Gorf so much, my father used to talk to me in a Gorf voice a lot. Gorf was always a treat dangled at me, for a couple of times every visit, if I was good.
Then, tragedy. That little arcade disappeared, swallowed up by heaven knows what, and to my father, the new treat was a trip to The Gogglebox video shop in Hale or Altrincham to hire a pirated ET.
New toys for new times. I eventually had tabletop Scramble and Firefox F7 that I played to death. But I've never forgotten Gorf. And I've never forgotten the wonder I felt as that young, enraptured child.
I was thrilled by Pong, to a Blakes 7 and Star Wars loving kid, this was space brought down to planet earth. Space Invaders was even more of a step up - lasers in a box! - and soon every chip shop in England had Galaxians bleeping away in a corner.
But my stepfather disapproved of such games, claming them to be a total waste of money and the past-time of dodgy youths. If ever we were at a motorway service station, my hopeful hanging around the games as they demoed away was always met with derision, not a single 10p coin was I ever given to feed to the intergalactic Moloch by the exits.
Heartbroken, I would pretend to play the demo, fingers on the buttons in hope the machine would spring to life beneath me. It never did. When we did get a Commodore 64 a few years later, only tedious educational software like dull as ditchwater "Gortek and the Microchips" was encouraged.
However, trips to stay with my father over in Manchester led to escape from videogame exile though. My father would take me to an early video game arcade in the guts of the Arndale complex in the centre of the city, near what I think was called Shambles Square. A modern entire glass fronted paradise, this arcade was neon lit, noisy, and full of the sounds of space.
And within its glass walls, lived GORF.
More than that, it talked. It actually spoke to you.
It spoke to me a lot.
"BAD MOVE, SPACE CADET" it robotically intoned at me every time I got killed. Which was, like, about every thirty seconds. Despoite my excitement at them, I was rubbish at playing video games, always was, and probably still would be now. Many 10p coins my father gave me; many times I got balsted to bits without clearing so much a single level of aliens, all accompanied by Gorf's electronic taunts.
I didn't mind. I just loved Gorf so much, my father used to talk to me in a Gorf voice a lot. Gorf was always a treat dangled at me, for a couple of times every visit, if I was good.
Then, tragedy. That little arcade disappeared, swallowed up by heaven knows what, and to my father, the new treat was a trip to The Gogglebox video shop in Hale or Altrincham to hire a pirated ET.
New toys for new times. I eventually had tabletop Scramble and Firefox F7 that I played to death. But I've never forgotten Gorf. And I've never forgotten the wonder I felt as that young, enraptured child.
Saturday, 20 April 2013
Konga - British Sci Fi does Killer Gorillas
I have just been reading an excellent anthology of writing on British Sci Fi cinema from the days of "Things to Come" in the early 30s, as far as Hardware, the film in which Carl McCoy of flour covered wearing leather hat sporting goth botherers Fields of the Nephilim appeared.
In between it deals with Quatermass, invading space dominatrixes, the adaptations of John Wyndham novels and naughty (and under-rated) space vampire type movies Inseminoid and Lifeforce.
In amongst all that, was a chapter dealing with British monster movies of the 50s and 60s, in which Konga, a 1961 release from Anglo-Amalgamated featured prominently.
Obviously the film takes King Kong as its starting point, but the movie is evidently more influenced by the Toho studios Gaiju films i.e. a man in a monster suit rampages around a carboard city squashing cultural landmarks. Eventually the heroic British army reasserts control of the situation which was initially created by the usual sort of deranged scientist with an axe to grind before being exacerbated BY A MADWOMAN SCORNED. The film thus combines two of the fascinations of home grown sci fi - how science must be kept coralled and controlled lest it destroys Westminster Cathedral, and how women are an inherent bloody menace whether they are space or not. As ever, tea drinking normality is restored in the end.
I haven't seen it, but along with virtually every other film mentioned in this book, I have decided I must. It can't be much worse than Peter Jackson's version, which the carnivorous insect section apart, is overlong and overblown.
In between it deals with Quatermass, invading space dominatrixes, the adaptations of John Wyndham novels and naughty (and under-rated) space vampire type movies Inseminoid and Lifeforce.
In amongst all that, was a chapter dealing with British monster movies of the 50s and 60s, in which Konga, a 1961 release from Anglo-Amalgamated featured prominently.
I haven't seen it, but along with virtually every other film mentioned in this book, I have decided I must. It can't be much worse than Peter Jackson's version, which the carnivorous insect section apart, is overlong and overblown.
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Doctor Parnassus and Lily Cole
I watched this movie again this afternoon, in a state of total enjoyment while never quite understanding what the film is about. Which is fair enough, because 1) I'm no superbright student of cinema and 2) I'm not sure Terry Gilliam knew either after Heath Ledger died.
The "Alt Ledger" sequences (Depp, Law, Farrell) do look, understandably, rather rushed. Especially Johnny Depp's sequence through the mirror
It doesn't stop the film from being a highly wonderful piece of cinema just for being there. It just is, and I'm a huge fan of movies like that. It looks amazing, sounds amazing, and is wonderfully cast.
"Wonderfully Cast"? Yes it is. Not for Heath Ledger, who actually with his floating point accent is probably the weakest thing in the movie (HERESY!!!!), but for Christopher Plummer, Andrew Garfield, Verne Troyer and Tom Waits. But especially, Lily Cole.
She can act, for sure, but most importantly she really does look like the sort of god-beautiful-given gift an immortal might spawn as the result of a pact with a particularly suave devil.
I love this film, but she makes me adore it, and if that makes me shallow, then by all means, take a paddle in me.
The "Alt Ledger" sequences (Depp, Law, Farrell) do look, understandably, rather rushed. Especially Johnny Depp's sequence through the mirror
It doesn't stop the film from being a highly wonderful piece of cinema just for being there. It just is, and I'm a huge fan of movies like that. It looks amazing, sounds amazing, and is wonderfully cast.
"Wonderfully Cast"? Yes it is. Not for Heath Ledger, who actually with his floating point accent is probably the weakest thing in the movie (HERESY!!!!), but for Christopher Plummer, Andrew Garfield, Verne Troyer and Tom Waits. But especially, Lily Cole.
She can act, for sure, but most importantly she really does look like the sort of god-beautiful-given gift an immortal might spawn as the result of a pact with a particularly suave devil.
I love this film, but she makes me adore it, and if that makes me shallow, then by all means, take a paddle in me.
Friday, 12 April 2013
Alien 3 is better than Aliens
Alien 3 is better than Aliens. End of.
Better cast of decent british actual acting talent and the tall bloke from Casualty who has just had his ear bitten off. The setting is more atmospheric, the characterisation deeper, and despite Fincher's production problems, it has a sense of style way above the KY dripping big gun techno porn of Cameron's vision.
And it has Chales Dance in it. I've liked Charles Dance ever since the wonderfully daft White Mischief, where he was shot by Joss Ackland and then masturbated upon by a middle aged ukulele strumming posh woman from the Kenyan Happy Valley set.
As for the rest of the reasons, it is best if I just list them as a procession of "No" bullet points, that will definitively illustrate for you why Alien 3 is better than Aliens.
NO irritating child NO actually rubbish subtexts about motherhood et al NO silly picture of an aged Ripley daughter that looks like it was ultrasounded in the womb of a tree NO stupid trainers that go over the ankle with velcro fasteners NO suits with turned up lapels NO scary corporate Rosa Klebb lesbian NO lines of dialogue that are flagged as a radical new symbol of female empowerment that aren't NO NO NO Bill Paxton rapping NO director's cut featuring Captain Hollister from Red Dwarf in an LV426 set that looks crummy when lit NO director's cut with Sentry Guns NO "Don't be gone long Ellen" NO silly giggle names like "Spunkmeyer" NO shot of Lance Henriksen in a tube that gives me nightmares NO heterosexual bromance between a crop haired latino and a guy last seen in a recurring role in Murder She Wrote. And above all NO NO NO over-rating by male critics who want to look like they were in at the beginning of some kind of female emancipation movement in world cinema.
Have a nice, dark, set on a prison planet that was originally a monastery kind of day.
Better cast of decent british actual acting talent and the tall bloke from Casualty who has just had his ear bitten off. The setting is more atmospheric, the characterisation deeper, and despite Fincher's production problems, it has a sense of style way above the KY dripping big gun techno porn of Cameron's vision.
And it has Chales Dance in it. I've liked Charles Dance ever since the wonderfully daft White Mischief, where he was shot by Joss Ackland and then masturbated upon by a middle aged ukulele strumming posh woman from the Kenyan Happy Valley set.
As for the rest of the reasons, it is best if I just list them as a procession of "No" bullet points, that will definitively illustrate for you why Alien 3 is better than Aliens.
NO irritating child NO actually rubbish subtexts about motherhood et al NO silly picture of an aged Ripley daughter that looks like it was ultrasounded in the womb of a tree NO stupid trainers that go over the ankle with velcro fasteners NO suits with turned up lapels NO scary corporate Rosa Klebb lesbian NO lines of dialogue that are flagged as a radical new symbol of female empowerment that aren't NO NO NO Bill Paxton rapping NO director's cut featuring Captain Hollister from Red Dwarf in an LV426 set that looks crummy when lit NO director's cut with Sentry Guns NO "Don't be gone long Ellen" NO silly giggle names like "Spunkmeyer" NO shot of Lance Henriksen in a tube that gives me nightmares NO heterosexual bromance between a crop haired latino and a guy last seen in a recurring role in Murder She Wrote. And above all NO NO NO over-rating by male critics who want to look like they were in at the beginning of some kind of female emancipation movement in world cinema.
Have a nice, dark, set on a prison planet that was originally a monastery kind of day.
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