F=AQ Page

FAQ Page

Why was Newton such a big deal?

He found out that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction and distilled his discoveries into his three laws:

  1. Inertia

  2. F=ma

  3. F = -F

Why was Einstein such a big deal?

Well, he kind of took a respectful dump on Newton.


And then quantum physics. Now (or, I guess, always, but we only just now do we “know”), anything is possible at any given moment. BUT only the most probable thing happens.  


goddamn free thinking liberal elite need comin up here policin the facts. the apple cant just fall from the goddam tree anymore.  nnooo, einstein and his cronies had to go and ruin the good old days of Newtonian simplicity


yes!!!!!! nd don’t even get me started on galileo!!!!!! #makemyplanetapancakeagain


Blog Entry: Curious Cat 1/0

Science- the art of undoing

Merrian Emmster, 3:38 September 26,2018

Scientists, creationists and Vonnegut Fans can all agree that there does exist one big mess, though they all differ on what to do about it. Creationists accept the mess and see our ability to perceive it either as entitlement to conquer it or responsibility to steward it. Artists wonder and then render, not to replace but refract.  Scientists are artists with numbers as their medium. Their pencils and calculators work to pick apart the mess and then recreate it in a different form. “Order” to “chaos”, “chaos” to “order”.

In some ways, science abstracts us from the mess and consequently extracts us from our brutish history with it.  Science helps soothe the modern man’s insecurities. No matter where he ends up, at least he’s cro magnon. He’s no brute. He’s no longer chained to the concrete world of rocks, fire, rape.  No, he has language, reason, hand-sanitizer; he can organize his existence.

The progress of modern physics evidences to us that we as a species have evolved. (We revolve around a sun! We can send rockets to the moon! Look at this lamb I GREW!). Yes, we so smart now. Old us? Them? They no smart. They churn butter. But we! We smart. Our butter from test tubes so good that we still can’t believe it’s. Not. Even. Butter.  Not to be the reason police, but can someone show me the data that proves butter making is a reliable metric of intelligence?

FAQ Page

Why was Newton such a big deal?

He wrote three poems to help modern westerners understand the ancient Hindu and Buddhist concept of karma.  They are below, with rough translation from fifteenth century physics to modern parlance.

Newton’s First Poem: Inertia

    1. Don’t be shocked if things keep doing what they’re doing.

Newton’s Second Law: Conservation of Energy: F=ma

    1. Nothing come from nothing, and nothing goes to nothing.  

Newton’s Third Law: F = -F

    1. What goes around comes around. Live with it.

Newton produced his work when the Scientific Methodists were really only a generation or so old.  It would still be a couple more generations until they integrated into a race of their own. Because Science was still in its gestation period, the only poems available addressing the mess of the universe were things like Christianity and love, and these were (and remain) indecipherable to the new generation, who only speak their native tongue of reason.  Newton’s poems were one of the first widely distributed works translated for this population, and thus they remain a timeless piece of art.

Why was Einstein such a big deal?

Einstein was revolutionary a visual artist whose preferred medium was light.  Thus, his works added a new dimension to Newton’s written works. Out of pure thought crystal, he sculpted a model of the crystal lens we are all born with.  The piece itself weighs nothing, and behaves both like a wave and a particle. It’s an interactive exhibit. Viewers place the crystal next to a thought of theirs and witness its rainbow on the other side. Einstein’s most famous for using his crystal on Newton’s poems.  The world was shocked to witness all the different interpretations of the poems that had been inaccessible until then.


People continue to use Einstein’s crystal to see the world and create their own work. One artist based in Bridgeport, Connecticut is attempting to apply the crystal to modern science and explore its human applications. She noticed science refracts a spectrum of mythology, history and love. She extends the crystal to you. You are not alone, homo sapein.


It’s so easy to believe that time is linear and that we as a species are more sophisticated now than we’ve ever been. In your pocket you have access to anyone, anywhere, anything, but but but but

We’re just rediscovering exactly that which our ancient ancestors did.  All we did was document it better and live through it. We look back on ancient mythology with the audacity and ego to say “hahhaha! Look at those imbeciles! How naive! They actually believed in a God of cereal!” But maybe—could it be?— that we are the ignorant ones? That we are the simple minded beings instinctively reacting and impulsively believing that all that we found out about these ancient cultures is all there is to know? That not only were our mere human ancestors so much more clever than the natural world so as to produce artifacts that can withstand all time, but that our mere human hands are adequate for unearthing all there is that remains?  

Religious but not Spiritual

Let’s talk about God.

Buy ten NPR totes and get a “spiritual but not religious” pin free. I had one myself. With each passing day at my liberal arts university, I grew prouder of it.  I also became completely disconnected to its meaning. Only after I resurfaced to the real world did I realize why: it is a lie.

The largest leap of faith in human history occurred when we shifted from believing in God to believing in Science. The former assumes the existence of an all-knowing being, whereas the latter rests on two fundamental assumptions:

  1. It is possible to know all.

  2. I can know all.

We scaffolded science onto religious faith, and then we made a crucial quantum jump.  We still believe in an “all-knowing being”, but now we know who it is: us.

And so began construction of our Ivory Tower of Babel.  Communicative chaos has ensued. E=mc^2, we now say. Game Theory, we say. Quinoa, we say. A choir of voices from inside and outside the Intelligentsia sing praises of intellectualism. We relegated God from transcendental to intellectual, and now our deep uncertainty and vulnerability cowers beneath an illusion of scientific order. Facts barricade the truth, and words damn true understanding. Our intellectual idols wield swords forged from hollow words, which protect them from nothing but their own humanity.  Intellectuals become so untouchably smart, so spiritually isolated, so adamantly non-religious, and so often deeply unhappy.

    And wouldn’t you feel this way, too, if you’ve devoted your life to a God of facts that proves to be false? To cope with the spiritual trauma, we jump on a treadmill of intellectual hedonism.  Unlike other hedonistic pleasures such as gambling, sex or drugs, we venerate white-collar addictions such as workaholism, financial success, and beauty, but the two fulfill the exact same role.  Enlightenment, our intellectual opiate, beckons us, and we ravenously run towards it. This pursuit of fleeting pleasures exhausts us, yet we are too tired or too busy or too afraid to sit in the seat of our souls and rest.  Depression trickles down from the Ivory Tower, and, fervently, tragically, we try to cure ourselves using the very methodology that poisons us. Yet what is this insistence on facts but faith?  What is this dogged loyalty to science but a religion?  No, no-- our data driven culture is not at all spiritual, but it is unequivocally religious.

“Knowledge” has replaced knowing.  Facts have replaced feeling.  The “enlightenment” we fixate on is a mere projection and our pursuit thereof a stationary sprint.  True “enlightenment” comes from stepping off the treadmill, shrugging off the burden of almighty pursuit, and awakening to God who has been all around us, always.   Let’s stop running and sit in the sacred. Let’s bask in our laughable ignorance and baptise ourselves in our infinite wisdom. Let’s talk about God. In recognizing our own humanity, we will reveal the divinity, indivisibly, in us all.   


Words slice reality into bite size chunks. Otherwise, this shit would be a mouthful.  Words are how we distinguish between a chair and a dog and where the sidewalk ends. For day to day life, words are accurate and hyper-efficient. Our smart brains serve us words like line cooks at a fast food joint. Unconscious, automatic, mechanical.

We’re addicted to our fast food. We our words up. We love them. Words are what makes us special. Human, as opposed to the grunting Neanderthal and inarticulate nematode. We largely live by and with and for words. Our Founding Document protects our God-Given right to words unlimited (First Amendment) and our right to hoard our words as we see fit (Miranda Rights). With just two words, we marry people (“I do.”)! We spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on tuition for some words (“PhD”). When it comes to the human scale, words are the perfect size. But for anything the size of humanity, words have proven near disastrous.

Words help us survive, but they are not life itself. Sometimes they mislead us. We’re human. Words come quick; we can’t control their arrival. We cannot be blamed for language’s automaticity and consequent shortcomings. We can be blamed, however, if we take our automatic labels to be unquestionable truth. If we allow our short-order brain to rule, we’re not just being inhumane; we’re not being human.  

Quite often lately, I hear people throw the word “inhumane” around as an insult, but rarely have I seen someone meet this accusation with heartbreak. Most people brush it off and go back to feeling themselves. Who cares about being humane when you can be rich? Powerful? Beautiful? Known?

But being inhumane is just one letter away— just a single vocal stressor away— from being inhuman, and that (at least to me) seems like a deep insult. We  identify too heavily with our ability to produce words. We preserved it, though, in the name we gave unto ourselves: to be human is to be humane.

If automatic labels are fast food, then acts of humanity are slow cooked meals. We think our words make us smart because they imply consciousness. In fact, the ability to override our impulsive labels and to sit in non-judgement takes even more brain power.  To be humane is to be aware. To be humane is to be conscious. To be human is to be alive. It is not just a moral quirk given to the angels amongst us. It is not just a random act of measured generosity. It’s a genetic responsibility. It’s a categorical imperative. It’s a definition.

Uncanny Valley

“As the appearance of a robot is made more human, some observer’s emotional response to the robot becomes increasingly positive and empathetic until it reaches a point beyond which the response quickly becomes strong revulsion. However, as the robot’s appearance continues to become less distinguishable from a human being, the emotional response becomes positive once again and approaches human-to-human empathy levels”

    Roboticist Masahiro Mori coined the term “UnCanny Valley” to describe the creepiness of robots.  We humans tend to like robots more the more they resemble humans— until a certain point. Specifically, at 81% human-resemblance, our liking plummets into strong rejection.

We’ve all experienced this precipitous drop into the Uncanny Valley. Baby dolls are cute; silicone babies are creepy. Cartoons are cute; bad drawings are… bad.  Halle Berry is sexy; Wax Halle Berry is only kind of sexy. Those imposters can STAY in their creepy valley where they belong!

Until about 99%. Then, we start to like the darn thing again. The 99-percenters can trick us into forgetting they’re robots, and we ex-machina all over them.  


The Uncanny Valley demonstrates many things, two of which I’d like to highlight here:

  1. Reality is non-linear

  2. The more conscious effort we put into manufacturing ourselves, the creepier we get.

To the second point:

    The easiest example is “the natural look.”  Walk into your local Walgreens. You will be greeted by row after row of beautify products promising the “Beach Tousle”, the “Sun-kissed glow”, the “Shades of Nude.”  Each of these products strongly recommends another product, or ten. At eighty six cents to the dollar, this can get costly. This face wash dries her skin, so she needs this lotion, and that lotion makes her face shiny, so she needs this power, but this powder makes her face smell like a baby’s ass, so she needs this perfume to attract mates with her pheromones and shit.  Nowadays, a woman pays a tit and a labe to appear as if she never paid nor tried nor gave any of her shits to make the world wonder: “Maybe she’s born with it; maybe it’s Maybelline.”

    Another example:  Greenwich Lawns. Drive through the lush hills of the Gold Coast on a Sunday morning and you will see the source of those perfectly manicured hedges: immigrant labor. (Specifically, Latino men, as the women are busy caring for the children.) You can appreciate the aesthetic balance of the estate, but it does not viscerally arrest you in the way a waterfall or tiger lily or rainbow would.  The succulent, majestic, meaty beauty vanished and left behind a creepy, wonderless shell. 1

1. Please feel free to skip this footnote, especially if you have a tendency toward the literal.

Here are a list of other things in the Uncanny Valley:

    Botox, Psychopaths, Amendments 1-27, margarine, the seventies, the FDA food pyramid, “Reconstruction”, aerosol, the Cold War, The Tower of Babel, the Twin Paradox, Newtonian Physics. Freud

Let’s play a game called, “Yeah, that’s creepy.”  Look at the room around you. There is a collection of things and furniture that ended up there some way or another.  Now imagine that someone had consciously put each and every thing there to seduce you into comfort. Now what was an organic environment becomes a test tube.  Your peaceful solitude mutated into a simulation under the watch of an unknown eye. Now, you say, “yeah, that’s creepy.”

We can isolate some variables of beauty: symmetry, color theory, balance. But we’re poetically unconscious of that which draws us to it: the juicy connective tissue between natural beauty’s bare bones that, like God, transcends our conscious but not our perception. God communicates to us through angels, through prophets, through miracles. God presses its hand against one side of the warm walls of reality’s womb, and we press ours against the other. But we never touch directly, and that is beautiful in and of itself. So too do we experience beauty.. Beauty is not a thing to pick up and pick apart. Beauty happens.  It happens beyond, within, and through us but never by us.

But, damn, do we try.

With epic regularity, humans strut up to history and declare it conquered. Time and time again history engulfs us back into its beautiful, beastly, belly. Remarkable how we never fail to believe that this time— that we— will be different.

I’ve never been one to believe a thing impossible, except for this: we will never escape ourselves. We try, and in so doing become less human.  We build ourselves up on top of fleeting pleasures and flimsy smiles, and we fall. We fall. We fall.

Into the Uncanny Valley.

No sign of life.

Devil’s Food Cake

People salivate for Descartes.  Every introductory philosophy course incorporates his Meditations*.  Pseudo-intellectuals quote his “I think; therefore, I am;” (some douchebags even regurgitate the Latin “Cognito ergo sum.”)** We like this. It sounds good. It makes us feel comfy in ourselves, and this is especially important if you venerate reason over god.  You need something to validate your existence.

We like Descartes for all his intellectual food for thought, but we love him for his being a human.  One of us.  A human said that— damn, we’re smart! It’s a sort of patriotism of species.  It’s quite easy (and, therefore, common) to gobble up his glory and eat around the actual substance to his claim. We serve up knowledge of Descartes’s knowledge (or any intellectual concept) to feed our vanity. We devour it.  When others devour it, too, this feedback feeds us, and it goes straight to our egos.


I’m proud to say I’ve never murdered anyone.  I’ve also never committed adulatory. I’ve never been married, so I’ve never really had the chance to, but I’m pretty sure if I ever was married, I wouldn’t. I have stolen, but nothing, like, serious, and I’ve repented for that, kind of.  

Other than that, I’ve completely shattered the other tablet.

In case you forgot, like I did, here are the first six commandments:

  1. I am the LORD thy God.

  2. No other gods before me.

  3. No graven images or likenesses.

  4. Not take the LORD's name in vain.

  5. Remember the sabbath day.

  6. Honour thy father and thy mother.

    (While I don’t consciously believe in the LORD, as a rational being it is my duty to weigh the evidence and counter evidence to every possibility.)  

Upon reflection, I feel kind of like a brute for only remembering the last four commandments.  Those are kind of the easiest to avoid as long as you’ve evolved past caveman and have a vivid enough imagination to realize what a mess it would be if you ever decapitated someone and/or coveted their neighbor's donkey.  These sins, though, are just collateral to the most fundamental vice: idolatry.


False idols are delicious. Alexander the Great. Einstein the Genius.  Theresa the Saint **. The Fancy Degree. The Corner Office. The Tight Body. Brand names, brand posts, brand lives.  Yum, yum, yum, brand me, baby.


One pre-teen day, before the alchemy of adolescence hijacked the Puritan in me, I was exploring the edges of gravity alone in my bedroom; specifically, I was experimenting with how far off the edge of my chair I could scoot my butt before I fell off. Just, you know, being a scientist, in the way kids are. Then, eureka! I fell. “God damn it!” I exclaimed, trying out the tongue of a sinner. Immediately, I imploded with remorse. I ran to the bathroom and washed my own mouth with Irish Spring. It was awful.


Vanity is defined as, “excessive pride in one's appearance, qualities, abilities, achievements, etc.” and in vain is defined as “without effect or avail; to no purpose.”  Is “God damn it!” in vain if you mean it as an earnest request?  

    Or is profanity essentially due to vanity? To use the Lord’s name “in vain” is to use it for empty reasons that strip it of its divine nutrients, to process the Patris, to flash fry the Filii, to sugarcoat the Spiritus Sancti.


Our hyper speed lives force us to eat ego on the go, and like fast food, this leaves many of us malnourished.  We scavenge for substance to make us finally feel full. We eat so much, we forget to taste. We hear so much, we forget to listen.  We think so much, we forget to be. Sugary shots of vanity— of affluence and accolade— cause spikes and drops in our soul insulin; we can no longer regulate our inner selves. We are spiritually diabetic, and we are addicted to the devil’s food cake.

DOW Jonestown


  1. an economic good: such as

    1. a product of agriculture like grain and corn

    2. an article of commerce especially when delivered for shipment

    3. a mass-produced unspecialized product

  2. something useful or valued (see: thing, entity, convenience, advantage)

  3. a good or service whose wide availability typically leads to smaller profit margins and diminishes the importance of factors (such as brand name) other than price

  4. obsolete : quantity, lot


Soft commodities include but are not limited to: wheat, rice, barley. Hard commodities include but are not limited to: iron, ivory, diamond. Energy commodities include but are not limited to: coal, gas, sunlight. Linguistic commodities include and are limited to: words.


How I see the universe:

Atoms. A whole bunch of ‘em. Everywhere, a lot, and in some places, even more. Sometimes atoms pack so tightly, they end up bonding. Like how we humans do.  Hm— I guess I think of atoms as small humans. (Wasn’t that the name of the first one of us?)


Atoms buy and exchange themselves in the market of matter. That’s what friction is: a molecular transaction between surfaces. That’s what water does: H20 investing in your oats, your iron, your cells. That’s what electronics have: atomic particles trickling down a circuit. Of course, we don’t see this.  We see rubber. We see Vaseline. We see breakfast, rust, iPhones. We see the human-scaled phenomena, and we group them into clumps convenient to trade in the market of human interaction.

So even though we know about all those atoms, we don’t talk about them as individuals. It wouldn’t make any sense in daily life. And besides, atoms don’t mind us grouping them all together. In fact, hey seem to like it. For example, if I asked you, “Yo, reader, pass me that Twizzler,” you’re not going to hand it to me one atom at a time. I’d kill you— after we both died of old age. You’d hand me a whole Twizzler all at once, all in one piece, because when those Twizzler atoms hear my request, they cheer “Yippee!” and join arms and ease on down the road to my digestive tract. I have to masticate to get those mother lovers to separate. It’s a fair trade: we get to eat Twizzlers, and atoms get to stick with their friends. Net GAIN.

Or wait— is it a paper gain?

(paper gain- unrealized capital gain/loss in an investment. For a purchased long investment, it is the difference between the current price and the purchase price. For a sold or short investment, it is the difference between the price when sold short and the current price.)

I’m not sure atoms are getting a return on their investment. After all, our linguistic commodities (i.e. the unified concept of “Twizzler” or clumping my atoms together as a unit of “Emma”) have no value on any scale other than human.  They matter next to nothing for the atom or the planet. In the economy of the universe, words have no market power. Words can point towards meaning, but they themselves have no inherent value. 1


Before the enlightenment, the printing press, the telephone, the record player—before—words were rare. -Er. RarER. Linguistic opportunities were limited to the local. Hand-crafted, small batch, artisanal words. Bought at a farmers market. Slow-cooked letters.  Fine wine lyrics. Elite literacy. 2. Now, we buy and sell and exchange words at unprecedented rates. We trade words before its meaning— its value— can catch up. We’ve saturated the market. Soon our linguistic bubble will burst and our Babel economy will collapse. 3

  1. The author can not comment directly on the atomic market of matter, for she herself is human and can speak only to the human market of chatter. However, a reputable source, who prefers to remain anonymous, reports, “we’re fine.”

  2. The author does not intend to portray a nostalgia for the past. Look at her: she’s typing and erasing and copying and pasting at ADHD rates as she sips a soy milk latte and listens to Rihanna. She loves modern day. She intends only to emphasis that, back in the day, words were reverse endangered.

  3. The author writes and rewrites the last sentence four times. She hears ambient music (with lyrics), and she ignores. She hears people she has never talked to and will never talk to talk around her, and she ignores. She sports a shirt that says “Don’t worry. Be Yonce” but did not realize she had put on a garment with a message when she threw it on this morning. She’s literally (literally!) sitting on a newspaper she stole just for the Sudoku.  Words shmurds. But she reads this: “Ponzi scheme (noun)- a form of fraud in which belief in the success of a nonexistent enterprise is fostered by the payment of quick returns to the first investors from money invested by later investors,” and she doesn’t know who Ponzi was or who the schemer would be, but, nevertheless, she wonders...