Knowledge is Power

Try looking up in the night’s sky and finding V4641 Sgr. I challenge you. Now I apologize. Black holes are quite difficult to find with the unaided eye, or the aided eye; they are hard to find in general, and that is because they do not release or reflect anything detectable. Though we cannot detect them, we can detect their presence. Orbiting V4641 Sgr is a star, feeding gas and heat energy into this microquasar. We can detect the movement of gas and derive the existence of a black hole there. As we have all wondered, where does this gas go? Many scientists would say that anything that enters a black hole will collapse into a space-time singularity, a singular point which is infinitely dense, infinitely hot, and takes up no space. Well many scientists are right, because accepted theories by the scientific community are alway right, right? In this instance, maybe. How should I know?

Recently, it has been theorized that there may be something else located at the center of a black hole-- wormholes. These wormholes are called white holes. Like the theory of the spacetime singularity, the existence of white holes has yet to be disproved, so let’s continue to entertain the thought, and consider V4641 Sgr is a white hole as well. These white holes could possibly lead to other universes, alternate ones. White holes can be considered infinitely small interdimensional funnels. We can begin to think of our universe as a Russian doll which contains other universes, but also is contained in one.

Fortunately, this theory can be proved, possibly. With this theory, the Big Bang was a singularity being created in a parent universe; the birth of a white hole could be the birth of our universe. It is known that some black holes rotate, and if our parent black hole rotates, our universe in turn rotates, and if we can prove the preferred rotation of our universe, this theory could be more widely accepted.

With this theory, it could mean that when our universe becomes a dark abyss, filled only with black holes and darkness, a universe is destroyed, but others are created. This theory doesn’t tell us much; it entertains some thoughts, but does not explain our universe’s physical properties. So what’s the point? If anything, it sounds quite statedly pointless. But humanity is everywhere, even in science.

Where there is destruction, there is creation. Where there is nothing, there is everything. Where there is blindness, there is blinding light. When the darkest parts of our minds become comparable to the darkness in our universe, know that within everything is something greater, something new.

Twin

I apologized to my friends as I got up. I started for the door while attending to the ringing in my pocket. I looked at the caller ID: Remi. His name wasn’t Remi, or it was technically, but that’s another thing. Let me get to that.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Sorry. I’ve been busy all day, and you left a message saying to call you, so this is me calling you.” he responded. “What’s up?” I had texted him earlier– reluctantly– that I had something to tell him, nothing bad, just something.

“Nothing– Err, so, I don’t really know how it happened, but I was in my room with Julia,” I began, “and we were just starting to get some homework done, and we were talking. She said that not a lot of people tell her that she looks like her parents. I don’t know how we got to talking about it. I guess she doesn’t look much like her parents, but I told her that it’s kinda funny, ‘cause a lot of people say that we look like Ma and Dad even though, y’know, we are adopted.

“Actually, I think it was that– so I met this cool guy Zack. He’s in one of my classes, and we were hanging out at Voodoo, and he showed me this picture he has in his wallet of some unknown family member of his that looks exactly like his sister, but no one in his family knows who the photo is actually of. It’s this old thing– faded, black and white– and no one knows, but it looks like his sister, however many generations and however far removed. Anyways, it got me thinking about how Grandma kinda looks like that photo of our mother. Her name was Sarah right?”

I knew her name was Sarah. I remember it quite clearly, Blake and I standing in front of the family’s locked filing cabinet filled with sensitive papers, birth certificates’ et cetera. Somehow– I have no idea, either my Dad forgot to lock it or my brother stole the key, both were equally likely– we were able to crack it and while rummaging through it, Blake found our adoption papers. We had always known of our adoption. It was never a negative thing. We had what we called “Family Day,” which translated to an ice cream from Baskin Robins every year celebrating the say Blake and I were literally delivered to our parents, from Sarah’s house to theirs. According to our Ma, we were loved even more because we were chosen. I mean, one of us was. My parents were pleasantly surprised when they found out that she was carrying twins, and they couldn’t turn down a second one of us. Sarah got to name us first because we were hers for the first few months. So for those few months, we were Remi and Alexander. We had an older brother named Sebastian. When we were adopted, they had our names changed to Blake and Peyton, but they kept our birth names as our middle names. I have been told that to name something is to take ownership of it, which is why I will always maintain an unquantifiable amount of respect for the woman who named us, raised us, and let us go. I do not know why we were put up for adoption, but I have always thought that whatever the reason was, it was likely good.

“Yeah, Sarah. But I don’t remember seeing any photos of her. What photo?”

“All I remember is just a single old four-by-six that looked like it was from the late nineties. Y’know, real desaturated and with that weird front flash and the little orange date at the bottom? It was with all the letters Ma and Dad sent her over the years I think. It was somewheres in that filing cabinet with all the important family papers, I don’t know. Anyway, I think I remember her looking a lot like Grandma when she was young, which is I think why people sometimes say that we look like Ma and Dad.”

“Okay.” Blake paused and waited for something else. He was justified, and I continued.

“And so I wanted to see if I could find a picture of Sarah on the internet, so I looked her up, y’know like how we used to. I didn’t expect much. But– uh– this time I found her. I mean I didn’t get a picture, but I found her on Whitepages, and– uh– she’s still in New Orleans, or like in Jefferson which is real close by, and I could visit her. I mean, I won’t, but still.”

“Damn.”

“I know, and it has her registered with Sebastian and a few other family members. I am just curious. I just kinda want to see what she looks like. I mean I don’t want to talk to her or mess with any of that, just see her.”

“Yeah, man. Me too. That’s crazy.”

“Yeah. I didn’t expect to come across her at all. I was just sitting in my room and Julia was there and I was just dumbfounded. I turned to her and she was like ‘What?’ and I just– it just took me a second. I told her ‘I just found my birth mother.’”

That same silence joined Blake and me in that moment over the phone. A few years ago, Blake, our friend Nick, and I sank a canoe and almost drowned. We had to swim to shore with it in tow. We lost all of our phones and some of our clothes and supplies. We got to shore and had no way of communicating with anyone, but we weren’t too far from the camp. We salvaged what we could and carried the canoe back on land. Without our technology and fueled by residual adrenaline, we collectively agreed to change our names, to be reborn. Nick became Sven, and Blake and I reverted back to our birth names. We were raised with one name, but we believed ourselves to each have another, one intrinsic to our person, one given by nature.

It’s been a while since either of us had heard from Nick. We all went off to our respective colleges, and though Blake and I still spoke and met up sometimes, we had neither seen nor heard anything from Nick in a while. Last time I saw Blake, he and his girlfriend came to town and stayed with me when we went to a music festival. He didn’t actually come to town. I had the car, so had to drive to pick him up, we spent the weekend in town, then he drove back. That weekend, we collectively received three traffic tickets, and he left my room a mess. I chewed him out, and he returned the favor. The last thing he said to me was: “You’re such a fucking dick. All you ever do is think about yourself.”

“I’m sorry for being a dick.” I said, breaking the silence, “and I’m sorry for blaming you for most everything up to this point.” We were both adults now, and I felt like being a little sentimental. Being a twin, we were both treated like different versions of each other. One of us was the smart one, or the strong one, or conversely the dumb one or the weak one. We struggled to share things in common because one would always do or be more than the other, and what’s the point of studying when you’re the dumb one. Why do something when you are just a less capable version of yourself? This underlying assumption led us to assigning blame to each other for most things. We grew to resent each other at times.

“It’s cool,” he responded. Years of tension began to suddenly be relieved. We were suddenly cool. Never in my life had I experienced such a feeling. It was as if I had leapt from an airplane without a parachute believing fully that everything would be fine.

The next morning, I would wake up having had the worst nightmare in my life up to that point, in which I attempted to inconspicuously find Sarah. I would fail in doing so, and Sebastian, who presumably still lives with her, would catch me. He would force me to listen to what he had to say, and he would not allow me to defend myself, and then introduce me to Sarah, who would be disabled and crying. I believed that in that moment she would be reminded of her pregnancy, possibly induced by sexual assault or rape. I would begin to cry as she tried to leave; Sebastian would keep her there despite her desire to get away from me. I would wake the following morning sweating and panting. I would tell neither Blake nor Ma nor Dad, and I will never seek out Sarah.

But that was for the following morning. I was still on phone with Blake. I would be okay. I thought back to the only time Blake told me that he missed me. He texted me a few weeks before, that he missed me and that he was sorry for all the shit he put me through in high school. We were both sorry for the people we became, but we accepted each other’s apology. I always thought that Blake would be the only blood relative that I would ever meet, that I would never be able to see any others, but I can and I won’t. As I write this, I know that Blake is the only blood relative that I will ever meet, and that is okay, because he is still on the line, and parachute or no parachute, we are all falling in the same direction.

“When’s the next time I’ll see you?” he asked, but I just stood there on the pavement, skydiving.

In 1857, the American government abolished the half-penny. It was deemed worthless, as it was; it had no buying power. Their view of worthless equates to roughly 13 cents today, the modern value of a half-cent piece then. So why do we have pieces worth under 13 cents? You could say that today we have bigger issues- ISIS, a failing prison system, the Syrian refugee crisis, you name it- but that does not mean this issue doesn’t exist, or that it doesn’t actually affect the American people. Abolishing the penny would save the American economy billions, due to the production cost of a penny being 2.4 times its face value.

So what can we do? I suggest visiting retirethepenny.org and checking out their resources. As a government made by the people for the people, we don’t have to wait. Try visiting local businesses and getting them to pledge that all cash transactions be rounded to the nickel. Put flyers around town. Spread the word. This issue may sound frivolous, but the more we label it as such, the bigger it will become. There are few problems we as students and underage citizens can solve, but this is one. Seldom will we be able to solve such problems. The deteriorating state of our nuclear facilities is a behemoth of a problem to solve, as are the problematic complexities of drug legislation and enforcement. We can’t reform education, or change the minimum wage, or end wars. But we can retire the penny, so let’s do it.

Death to the Penny

You walk to your locker between classes. You are dropping off some notebook and replacing it for another. Looking around, a glint of something catches your eye- light bouncing off a piece of zinc, coated in copper. It is Abe Lincoln, smiling at you. You register the penny on the ground, and go back to what you were doing. You go to your next class and go about your existence penniless. Well, that one penny less. If it was a quarter on the ground, perhaps a banknote, you would have paid more attention, picking it up, and if you’re a kind soul, seeking the owner of said money. But never would you look for the person who lost a penny. Why not? Well because what’s it matter? One cent richer, one cent poorer- it’s all the same! So, why have the penny? To put it simply, there’s no reason to keep it. In fact, the country would benefit from its removal.

In 1857, the American government abolished the half-penny. It was deemed worthless, as it was; it had no buying power. Their view of worthless equates to roughly 13 cents today, the modern value of a half-cent piece then. So why do we have pieces worth under 13 cents? You could say that today we have bigger issues- ISIS, a failing prison system, the Syrian refugee crisis, you name it- but that does not mean this issue doesn’t exist, or that it doesn’t actually affect the American people. Abolishing the penny would save the American economy billions, due to the production cost of a penny being 2.4 times its face value.

So what can we do? I suggest visiting retirethepenny.org and checking out their resources. As a government made by the people for the people, we don’t have to wait. Try visiting local businesses and getting them to pledge that all cash transactions be rounded to the nickel. Put flyers around town. Spread the word. This issue may sound frivolous, but the more we label it as such, the bigger it will become. There are few problems we as students and underage citizens can solve, but this is one. Seldom will we be able to solve such problems. The deteriorating state of our nuclear facilities is a behemoth of a problem to solve, as are the problematic complexities of drug legislation and enforcement. We can’t reform education, or change the minimum wage, or end wars. But we can retire the penny, so let’s do it.

Antisocial Media

I went to Sloss Music and Arts Festival in Birmingham a few weeks back with a few friends. You might not know because I didn’t post anything about it on any social media. In fact, leading up to the festival, I deleted all of my social media accounts and apps. It felt liberating being able to simply mosh to The Joy Formidable without having to worry about getting a steady shot for my Snapchat story. It felt really good to watch the frontman of Grouplove throw his guitar over thirty feet in the air without trying to follow it with my camera, struggling to keep it in frame. I got to appreciate the songs and the experience.

You see, social media is an attitude. It broods pride and envy. It begs for attention, screaming “Look at me!” in some elaborate public display. Now don’t get me wrong, we all want some form of attention, and deserve some to a degree. I used to be one such of these beggars, a social media guru, but I came to realize that the attention social media gave me was artificial, its audience false.

While waiting front row for Death Cab for Cutie to start their festival set, I made friends with fellow fans around me—that is, those fans around me that weren’t busy checking their various feeds, hoping that their selfie with them only a few feet away from the stage would get a sufficient amount of likes to justify the experience. The people on their phones around me were asking for validation on the internet, hoping others would think what they were doing was cool. What I chose to do instead was to make friends around me; everyone around me, myself included, already knew how cool what we were doing was. Instead of remaining within my circle of virtual friends, I made new ones. [Shoutout to Anthony, Cat, Elizabeth, Marina, Rohethe, Tim, and Shauna for hanging out with me front row and not getting too mad if I stepped on their toes when doing what might or might not have had some semblance of some sort of dancing.]

Social media causes us to change our personality, to cultivate another self, a well-refined, edited self. A past Eclectic editor once said, and I’m paraphrasing, ‘No one wants to see four girls screaming at Nitetown. It’s a waste of time,’ referring to Snapchat though any social media would do. That is exactly what it is-- a waste. I say this not from my high horse, but as I became self-aware. I’m not accusing you all of wasting your time. I’m saying that I wasted my time. People are doing things for others’ approval, and doing less for themselves. They are taking it upon themselves to entertain and, as Bo Burnham said, “perform constantly” with the whole world as their audience. In my experience, you’ve got to entertain yourself before others; it is a burden and a responsibility that is not yours. Maybe that was a sick party last night, or maybe the world needed yet another shot of your breakfast, or you at the gym, or going to see finding Dory, but it is a waste of time and virtual space.

I’ll officially dismount from my high horse now, and admit that I was a social media fiend for years. I am writing this so that you can consider your use of social media. Without it, I now communicate a lot more on an individual level, calling and texting friends, meeting up and hanging out more often. I deleted nearly all of the nonessential apps from my phone—games, useless utilities, any and all distractions. I am minimizing the use of my phone in order to be aware of my surroundings more. The internet connected everyone with a phone, no matter the distance. It is great when distance is a problem, but it removes you from your current setting to transport you there. I am trying to get as fully absorbed as possible in my current setting at all times. I am devolving my own phone, limiting its capabilities for my own sake. Even when taking photos, I try to use my Ricoh AF-60, the fancy name for my not-so-fancy 35mm automatic camera. All of these photos were taken at Slossfest using the Ricoh, the best part being the great conversation starter. I got to meet Michelle, Rachel, and Michael with this camera. I opted to not publish their images without their permission. But I met people and had thoughtful conversations with them, and that is what I continue to do. 5 out of 5 stars. Would recommend.

To be clear, I don’t want this article to be about me, despite the extensive use of the first person singular. This is about you and all of us. I hate to be a Luddite, but technology is advancing at a rate never before see in human history, and we have to start deciding if we want to use this technology. I mean have you seen WALL-E? After years of social media exploration, I have thus concluded that it is no different than the rest of the internet: cold and impersonal. I hope I’m not alone in this view. I suggest to live wholeheartedly and genuinely. Communicate with people, not accounts. Don’t waste your time. Not a second. Not even six.

Tower

This is my tower, I thought, and you are longed for still.

The way the water that covered this Earth gently, or maybe harshly viewed from a distance, crashed itself into my blemish of land hypnotized me, mesmerized me, distracted me. I longed, as I always did and pray one day not, I longed for her skin. The way our lips were once one, when we ourselves were tangled limbs and love. What we had was pure, in the world before rain.

The history of us was blurred; time was the culprit. The endless repetition of waves below and endless repetition of sun above had eaten away at what I once knew. What I did know was that there was a time where the Earth was clean; there was land; there was us. At some point along our timeline, the water started to fall; it started to flood; it started to inundate, and we separated, retreated to our towers.

Scanning the horizon, an impossible line, indistinguishable from the oceans of the bottom and atmospheres above, I saw other towers like mine, but never hers. I would have known. I should have known. I could have known if I didn't let myself get blurred.

Looking up and towards the sea, I realized that the rain did not separate the two of us; she did. I had brought upon myself these floodwaters; I had given myself this high tide. I inundated my world, to flee, to escape her.

This is my tower, I thought, and you are longed for still. This is my tower, and no longer are you mine.