Revelation

I saw God today.

God was in Tesco. He looked at me when I walked by the magazine aisle mumbling to myself. I did not see Him then.

But God was waiting for me at the self-service checkout. When my item was not recognised in the bagging area, She came and helped me get through it.

Or was that the Devil?

I saw the Devil today. She was in Costa standing in front of me in the line and corrected the cashier when she charged me 2 pounds instead of 1.70. When the cashier did not understand, the Devil spoke from behind me in the queue to verify the correct price. After convincing the cashier of her mistake, She put Her hand in the tips jar and handed me back my change.

Or was that God?

I saw God today, of that I'm sure. And I also saw the Devil, clear as the I see you now. I just don't know Who was Who. I smiled and thanked Them both. And They smiled back at me.

Revelation Day.

Anticlimax comic

Seriously guys and girls, this just rocks. If only all advice could be this accurate, good and helpful.

(From Dinosaur Comics)

Holly stories Batman!

Motivation

You can always try.

Another way to...

...write lyrics.

Not making sense, let's try this again.

James Bond. Ah yes, ol' Jimbo's back with a bang and a vengeance. Nice, really nice, and I'm enjoying Bond now more than I have for a while. Great.

Jack White. Wrote the theme for this last movie, a song entitled "Another way to die". Not a very original title for a Bond song.

But.

Jack White is different. He's an Artist with a bang and a musical attitude. And this theme is f a n t a s t i c (in my own humble opinion).

The riffs.

The drums.

The vocals.

The lyrics.

That's what I want to talk about. The lyrics in this song do not simply tell a story (which on its own is becoming more and more rare music).
The lyrics are pictures. Still photos. Short descriptions of single moments in time, snapshots, pictures at an exhibition. Slick, glossy, dirty, bold, hard-hitting pictures.

"A door left open
A woman walking by
A drop in the water
A look in the eye
A phone on the table
A man on your side
Oh, someone that you think that you can trust"

This is brilliant. This is superb writing. This is a great song.

Well done Jack.

MJ 4 EVA

'Nuff said.

Another one for the ol' collection...

Napoleon Dynamite, for the ignorant..

Moby - Last night in Edinburgh

The Liquid Rooms - worth it!

Funk-ay Monday

One of the coolest, funkiest, awsomest songs ever!
This guy looks as cool as Sammy L. Jackson looks now, only he did that in 1974.
Twice the cool!

Moving

There's not many things that move me these days. I find that it gets harder and harder for me to feel touched, moved, emotional even over things that happen around the world. I guess I'm just getting older, more cynical and emotionally tougher - it's called growing up I think.

And yet every now and again I do come across little bits of human activity that move me, tiny fragments of humanity floating around in the grey of everyday life that splash some colour onto the world in a way words simply cannot describe. A glimpse of what the world could be.

Go Matt.


Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

A day like today

You spin me right round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round, baby right round, like a record baby round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round round

Watch out, here I come

Violet Hill

The only sound you hear is your own breathing. Relaxed and slow, controlled, following the pace you were taught to keep. In and out through your nose to keep your mouth closed - you cannot afford to lose heat in the snow. In and out.

Pace.

Tick. Tock.

Your right eye is scanning the white landscape through the sight, following the dot as it scans over snow-covered fields and buildings, over trees and traffic lights long now extinguished, over old fire marks and holes in the ground.

Tick. Tock.

The silence is incredible when you hold your breath. Not a bird is heard, not an animal dares venture into the cold, no people around talking about clearing up the snow. No children playing. No women laughing. No cars. No footsteps.

Breathe again and you shatter the outworldly silence with your steam-engine like noises. You shift your weight slightly to ease the tension on your neck, you take your eye off the sight only for a second, you move your fingers in your woolen gloves. Close your eyes, you can close your eyes, it's only for a second.

A snowflake lands on the tip of your nose startling you. How long have you been out for? Your posture is still the same, your hand clutched around the handle of your rifle, your head is still upright. It couldn't have been more than a second and yet it could have been hours for all you know. You saw her again when you closed your eyes, didn't you? Her smile, her long fingers, her hazel eyes. It's too risky to sigh, but you can still bite your lip hard, teeth over the marks of the previous bites.

Tick. Tock.

You breathe again. You wonder if you'll even feel the bullet when it comes. You hope you'll at least hear it, a different sound in the quiet that is your reallity now.

You hope you'll feel the bullet.

You pray you'll feel the bullet.

You won't.

BlogV

Now I've enjoyed writing in this blog as much as the next person would, had they been me and liked writing (?), but fact remains not many people read what I write on a regular basis.

I read it for sure. In fact, I read my posts every now and again and usually find them to my liking, which I suppose is a good thing. And then there's a small number of people that tend to follow some of my posts every now and again, and even leave the odd comment. Which is also good.

But what about regular readers? On a more permanent basis, perhaps? Is there a reason why this doesn't happen?

Yep.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again: What I write about is just not that interesting (except the random Pingu videos).

This became perfectly clear this morning when I saw I'd received a comment from V and clicked on her blog, V's Bolivian Diary, which is just So Damn Interesting (SDI, from now on a copyrighted acronym) and so well written. I found myself reading through the posts at the same speed as I would read a good book (fast enough to make me regret buying books as I don't feel I get enough reading time for my money, for those of you unaware of my reading habits).

I'm very impressed, not to mention jealous of V's amazing experience.

But hey, I've got Jabba!

No words are needed

Hey Bobby Marley

Early morning in Scotland, some time in Spring.

















It's cloudy and cold, and the fog is slowly covering everything under it's grey blanket, trying to hold on to that sleepy dawn feeling, when the world hovers between the land of Morpheas and the land of the living. Sheep and cows have only just started grazing in the green fields, and the first crows of the day sweep low above the fields in search of breakfast.

















And on the A92 road to St Andrews, an old car is driving along around the speed limit, the little sunroof open to let the morning breeze in, spreading The Word of Bob through the sleepy towns of Fife in Scotland.

"No woman no cryyyyy..."

The Greek driving has his sunglasses on, a big smile on his face and is singing at the top of his lungs, joining his voice with the timeless Jamaican singing about the good and bad things in life. And Scotland warms up around them, just this little bit...

Daydreaming

Here we are again, my loyal reader(s), on another fine Scottish spring day. It’s 9 degrees out there, the sun is hiding behind the clouds, and I don’t feel like working. Not at all. Bad news for science, no news for me.















Terry Wogan and The Beatles will have to wait, as today I will be talking about my recent experience in daydreaming/hallucinating – not sure which, probably both.

I was walking towards the centre of St Andrews (ha! The irony), passing by the road works to put down new tarmac on a street where it’s not really needed. I was walking slowly, hands in pockets, looking at my legs and feet moving, inhaling fresh asphalt, when the sight of Scottish pavement disappeared before my eyes.

I found myself looking at my feet in old white trainers going up to bare calves and shorts; the feeling of a t-shirt flapping around my body, and a hat on my head. My feet are kicking up pale yellow dust from the dirt road and kicking gravel as I walk. I’m hot and cold at the same time, as I’m sweating and the breeze blowing cools me down.

I can hear the sea, the constant sound of little waved breaking on rocks in the cliff just to my left, and voices from the people on the beach some distance away. I can hear the sound of old boat engines clucking their way out to sea. If I concentrate, I can just about hear the sound blowing through the patch of trees lower down in the bay, the sound of distant cicadas on those trees, I can almost feel the welcoming coolness of their shade. I’m aware of little grasshoppers doing what they do best – hopping, of course – in the road ahead of me.

I’m fourteen again, I have not a single worry in the world, and I’m on holiday in Astypalaia. I'm happy.

















I blink again and the vision’s gone; I’m back in St Andrews, I’m 27 years old, I have a PhD to finish and decisions to make about my life in the near future.

Cruel and kind at the same time my mind is, giving with one hand and taking back with the other.

Back to work.

Revelation!

I had a fantastic idea, a clear moment of realisation this morning driving into work, about a really profound and important subject.

Unfortunately I don't remember anything about it now.

Damn.

FSM, seriously?

Well, Spring is (?) upon us, the weather is ever so slightly warmer than it was a month ago, it rains every single day and I've finally moved to a new house that rocks. It's all good in the hood then (except I still don't have broadband at home, but that's me being inefficient at organising the move, you would've though that after moving 12 time in my first two years in Scotland I would have picked up a few tricks, but no, I haven't, in the same way that I still use a lot of comas in my sentences and write in really long sentences within even longer brackets, enough now), and as such I don't feel the need to write about it (see previous post).

Today's subject will be about a subject that's ok to talk about anywhere in the world EXCEPT the US of A. Intelligent design.









No, no, don't yawn and click on the "Find next blog" button. Wait! This could be interesting for a change.

Let me first clarify my position on a key parameter of this discussion: I am a scientist.



And, to make things even worse, I am a physicist (there has to be a relevant remake of the above song for physicists. If not, dear Dandies, please...?). And I am interested in the whole Bing Bang, superstring, branes, essence of time and space, the more philosophical aspects of science if you will.

As for religious beliefs... I was brought up as a Christian, though I practice about as often as I practice exercising (my less-than-trim-but-not-obese figure helps to clarify this as "very rarely, but haven't given up completely"). So in the scale of Science vs. Religion, we know by now which way the scale tips.

It has been with great interest then that I have followed the whole intelligent design argument in the past years - I am quite late dealing with this come to think of it, aren’t I? Well, I had better things to do, such as, er, uhm, well, you know, stuff. About the whole State lawsuits on this I personally believe that, uhm, this argument is, like, and such as, South Africa and The Iraq, pointless. No further comment on this, if people want to be anal about certain things and if religious fanatics are making use of the overzealous lawsuit system in the US, that is certainly stupid but (for me) besides the point. Which is, to say, this:

Is there any point/truth/basis in this intelligent design theory?

I have heard in the past the statement that "All/most scientists that delve into the mysteries of Nature deep enough are eventually convinced of the existence of God". I cannot judge the validity of this statement. None of the scientists I have known seemed to have turned towards religion because of the results of their research, so I'm tending to write that off as an urban legend. Carl Sagan, for example, definitely upheld his own scientific beliefs until the very end, without though ever denying people their right to believe. I'm fine with this line of thinking, you believe what you want, I believe what I want, we're both happy (yay! Happy days!).













The problem starts when people start thinking of science and religion as mutually exclusive - or perhaps this should be rephrased to "science and Christianity as mutually exclusive", since I am not aware of another religion that has had such a big problem with science (feel free to correct me on this). In any case, the argument stems from this particular clash, so let's focus on this. So why should they be mutually exclusive?

Christianity states that God created the world (I won't be drawn into the "in 7 days" argument), and that's about it, He is the Alpha and the Omega, everything and anything that happens is His will. Done.

Science states that the Universe started, but we don't know how. It is because of the particular beginning that certain physical laws apply, and these laws determine how everything and anything happens. Semi-done.

Where is the mutual exclusivity then? It does not appear to be included in the above sentences, as the logical conclusion could be that, since science cannot tell us how it all started, it might as well have been God that did. As a consequence of that, certain principles apply, and all is happening according to them. God could have simply "kick-started" the Universe, and then it goes on about its way based on the initial conditions. I think a lot of people would be happy with this amalgamation of theories. I mean, why not?












The problem arises when looking at what both sides go on to support. Christians are happy to believe that God continually interferes, changes and modulates the Universe around us to serve His purpose, and that we shouldn't really bother trying to understand all this, for "He works in mysterious ways". Scientists say God isn't modulating anything, he might not even be real, seeing is believing and we will continue to look until we have proof. And that last single word perhaps summarises the key difference between the two sides.

Science needs proof. You can say what you want, make any claims you might come up with, but if you don't have proof brother, you're out; it's simply speculation.
Religion is based on faith. You do not need proof, your faith is more than enough; believing is seeing.

Faith is undisputable. You cannot present evidence against it, you cannot disprove it, you cannot offer an alternative. It is not open to different interpretations (heresy!), it does not change itself based on new facts and evidence, like science does. And that is why it is so powerful.


















Back to the argument at hand. An attempt was made to dress up religious beliefs with the cloak of science through the theory of intelligent design. To summarise: science stands, but only if we accept that God is behind it all. We did evolve from amoebas, but only because God guided us. We evolved the way we did simply because God directed us so. Darwin wasn't completely wrong, but he wasn't completely right either; he forgot to attribute everything to God.






















Really? I mean, really really? Since when does religion need a scientific base to support its beliefs? What about "For I do not seek to understand that I may believe, but I believe in order to understand"? Nope? Has faith really become so weak in people that they start needing evidence to believe?

On the other hand, for as long as science cannot provide us with a definite answer to the Big questions, the human mind will continue to seek ("seek and you shall find"). It is quite possible that no answer can eventually be found, and certainly rather improbable that this would occur within our lifespans (prove me wrong, I would love that).

I'm a big fan of "seeing is believing", and not the other way around. It works for me, it floats my boat, and if it still leaves me with unanswered questions, I'll go on looking for an answer even harder. I might end up believing in God (properly I mean), or I might not; maybe my answer will be "it was all a cosmic accident, oh dear, we never saw that brane coming our way", or maybe it was the Flying Spaghetti Monster that started it all. No one knows for sure, though some people have their own beliefs about this, and that's alright.

















People are entitled to their beliefs. Cool.
Beliefs and knowledge are two different things. Cool.
Pasta rules. Also cool.

Perhaps this quote by Carl Sagan sheds a bit of light on why people are in the end so determined to prove the existence of God in the traditional, Christian way:

"The idea that God is an oversized white male with a flowing beard, who sits in the sky and tallies the fall of every sparrow is ludicrous. But if by 'God,' one means the set of physical laws that govern the universe, then clearly there is such a God. This God is emotionally unsatisfying... it does not make much sense to pray to the law of gravity."

Now if only I could find a "Gravity Fish" picture...

It's that time of year again

Spring is just around the corner, the grass is getting greener, baby lambs take their first steps in the world, and I'm getting ready to move yet again.

*Sigh*

Well, it has to be done, so no point in moaning about it. And although I detest packing, clearing out my stuff and unpacking at the new place, I'm actually quite looking forward to it.

However, Lady Luck has interrupted my life again, making sure things aren't easy or straightforward. You see, the house I was going to move into was sitting on a radiation hotspot. How's that for luck?

There's a lovely part of Fife, with lovely houses, lovely views, lovely gardens, lovely cars, lovely people, lovely dogs, and a large amount of lovely radium in the sea and on the lovely beach. It seems that the site of decommissioning a large number of fighter planes has been turned into a lovely (again, I know) residential area, and I can't really say I'm against that. All's fine and good, no?

No.

Back then (and I presume now as well when nobody's looking) decommissioning something (anything) meant setting it on fire and throwing it in the nearest sea/lake/river. In the case of fighter planes, that back in the day had instruments coated with radium to glow in the dark, this lead to substantial amount of burnt (i.e. unaffected) radium being dumped in the nearby bay, and then forgotten. And then some decades down the road, a random radiation levels check shows that the area is contaminated. Great.

As always, a big survey took place and, quite predictably when considering the area was prime estate location by then, showed that everything was A-OK. Provided you didn't visit the beach too often. Or grow vegetables in your garden, which might have had a few tonnes of soil removed to reduce the radiation levels. Or hold on to rocks you collected. You get the picture; even if overall the doctors say it's ok, would you trust in that? Would you knowingly live in an area running the risk that some years down the road a new report might come out that says "oops, actually, you're fucked"?

Well, I didn't. I found a new house, one that's not sitting on the outskirts of Milpitas (those of you that get it, well done, you've wasted your life watching crappy films at least as much as I have).

It is in Kirkcaldy though, and I know there are people that would prefer growing a third leg that glows in the dark to that. Oh well.

I'll let you know how it goes. Until then, don't walk your dog in Dalgety bay. Or Aberdeen. Or Torness. Or...

27

It's strange that the two people that contacted me today (by phone/text, somehow Facebook/email just aren't the same. Sign of growing old? Note here that I am talking about people that I see something like once-twice a year. Does it make any difference? Not really) about my birthday both commented on the lack of updates on my blog. At least I found it strange, I suppose it's quite normal actually, since this is one of the ways that old friends keep in touch with me. I should apologise to everyone for being so bad at keeping in touch, but honestly it's not personal, I really am really bad at keeping in touch. So is there really a connection between me becoming 27 today (or completing the 27th year of my life, to be precise) and posting after all this time?

You guessed it, sort of.

I think it's a good time to think about a few things and, since in this blog I just think aloud, maybe to see what you, oh loyal reader, think about my thoughts. Think, think, think. I feel I should also add that I am completely sober at this point, braking from the noble tradition of drunken retrospections.

Anyway, I've always thought that if a djinni was ever to magically (or not) appear in front of me and ask me for three wishes, I'd know what to ask for two of them. I'd ask to never die, and I'd ask to always be aged 27-30 years old. Not sure about the third one, should I release the djinni from its lamp, or simply hold on to it as a last resort? Anyway, this means that I am now entering what I've always thought of as a "golden age" for myself, the age of miracles. Why now?

Well, it kind of makes sense (from a wishful point of you, I suppose) that ideally your personal peak should correspond to your physical peak, between being too young and still growing and being old and decaying (I'll agree with anyone wanting to expand this time period up to maybe 33 years old, but no lower than a year or so). It should also coincide with a point in your life where you've completed any training/education/early stages of work and are now moving towards better things. A time when you've laid the foundations of what you'll become and can decide who you want to become - or the other way around, I don't mind. It's also the golden age projected en masse by Hollywood, sports, musicians etc. It is da bomb; should be. Is it?

Again, it kind of is. No wait, am I being too hasty about this? What if you become a great writer when you're 60? A wonder-kid in violin when you're 13? Well, even though I'm sure you'll enjoy it, I think that it's a bit marginal, in terms of having the energy or maturity accordingly to fully enjoy and appreciate your success. Let us not forget that most wonderkids ended up miserable, and most old success stories didn't end up so well either. By the way, I'm not sure if I should bother supporting all this with actual facts; after all, it is my birthday, I'm gonna write as if it's my birthday, I'm gonna comment as if it's my birthday, and you know I don't give a damn if it's my birthday (amen!). So anyway I'm right on this, ok?

The magic age zone then. What does it feel being in the zone?

Good, actually. No complaints here. It helps that I've never had specific goals along the lines of "by the time I'm 28 I should have kissed a camel and ride a motorcycle naked across Turkmenistan", but in general I think it's all good. Sure, everyday life has its problems, work has its ups and downs, but come on, it is pretty good. Maybe not fantastically amazingly incredibly like-totally-wow-dude great (ah, to be riding naked through Turkmenistan...), but it's good. Rock on.

Is the grass greener on the other side?

Of course it is. You could always have more money, more friends, better weather, less problems, whatever. But I think that at this point you are aware that you're in a way sitting on the fence between two green fields, and that looking to the other side doesn't mean your side is bad. Things could be better, things could be worse, but hopefully you know what you've done in the past to improve things, so off you go.

(I've just realised that my way of thinking is so typical of a well-fed, well-taken care of western brat that cannot really complain about life, since in comparison to what is happening to the world around him, he's aaaaaalright. Hey, that's who I am, tough).

Am I going somewhere with this? Ah, yes.


I'm 27 years old, and I'm ok.

How are you today?