Tag-arkiv: 3. person

Mellem linjerne

Der var engang en historie, der hverken havde en begyndelse, en midte eller en slutning. Den havde havde muligvis en handling eller måske havde den mange, men det var ikke handlingen, som i sidste ende var det vigtige. Der blev inde i historien i lang tid diskuteret, hvad der i virkeligheden var det vigtige og hvad der man meningen med det hele, men ingen kom til enighed, og det var i øvrigt også ret svært, når der hverken var en begyndelse eller en slutning på diskussionen.

For de udenforstående, der fik fortalt historien, var det måske i virkeligheden hvad den handlede om: den manglende handling og sammenhæng. For hvordan kunne noget som helst give mening på denne måde? Og dermed skrev de straks historien om, så den nu startede med et brag af en begyndelse. The Big Bang valgte de udenforstående at kalde den, og så var historien ligesom i gang. Allerede en mindste brøkdel af et sekund senere inde i historien var der sket en hel masse, blandt andet blev uendeligheden udvidet en hel del og ud af en energi kom en hel masse, sådan rent bogstaveligt talt.

Alt dette og meget mere blev de udenforstående enige om måtte være sandheden, for sådan kunne det hænge sammen og give mening med kronologiske begivenheder, som det sig hør og bør.

“Hvad er en historie uden begyndelse!”, fnyste de nærmest af den oprindelige konstruktion.

I mellemtiden levede historien selvfølgelig sit eget liv, helt uanfægtet af hvad de udenforstående tolkede ind i den. Den levede et liv inden begyndelsen, hvor slutningerne mødtes og hvor det, der endnu ikke var skabt, allerede havde levet i ujævnt definerede evigheder. I sådan en ikke-begyndelse og midt mellem ligegyldige ikke-definerede handlinger, sådan lidt mellem linjerne, fandtes Ingolf.

Ingolf var en af de mange, der diskuterede begyndelser, uden rigtig at være begyndt på det, så derfor endte det heller aldrig helt som ønsket, fordi midten kom i vejen. Men midt i en foreløbig begyndelse kom han forbi en lille planet i år 2017, hvor en af de mange udenforstående boede. Den udenforstående – lad os kalde ham Peter – levede sit liv i fuld harmoni med de linjer, han havde fået lagt foran sig. Han fulgte tiden, blev født, levede og døde, sådan groft sagt, alt i mens Ingolf kun lige var ved at tage sig sammen til at stå ud af den ikke-eksisterende seng. Men så var det at begyndelsen var der igen, og her fangede han Peter midt i en sætning.

“Vi er løbet tør for mælk”, sagde Peter, mens han stod i boksershorts i sit køkken og holdt køleskabsdøren åben. Lige der føltes det næsten som om tiden stod lidt stille, mens han overvejede sine muligheder. Måske kunne han tage et stykke knækbrød med ost. “Har vi noget ost?”, mumlede han for sig selv, og det gibbede voldsomt i ham, da Ingolf pludselig svarede.

The story of a supermassive black hole who didn’t own a bathroom scale

In the very most distant corner of the universe, there once was this little black hole, as black as any of the darkest souls. Actually it was a pretty huge black hole. Massive. SUPERmassive as the matter of fact, almost like superman, except it was much cooler. First of all, it wasn’t wearing it’s underwear outside its pants, and second it was much bigger and much heavier than superman, with it’s mass of a billion solar masses. Well approximately a billion solar masses.

The SMBH did not own any bathroom scale, and hence it had no idea how much it actually did weight. Maybe some thousand solar masses if it was a small SMBH or maybe hundreds of thousands billions of solar masses if it was a larger one [1]. It had no idea, and neither did it like to be compared to the little bright star, that some living creatures called the sun. The sun was such a tiny, young thing, it was picture perfect and really had a body of a model, while the SMBH just felt huge and heavy in comparison. “Nobody ever uses ME as a model”, it muttered to itself. “Also, it’s probably because I’m black”.

Since the SMBH did not know it mass and actually didn’t even know it’s size either, it even had no idea whether it actually had a healthy BMI. It did try to get its daily exercise though, by actively swirling huge masses of gas surrounding it (even though “daily” didn’t really make any sense to it, but sometimes you just gotta do, what you gotta do, right?)

It would try compare itself to a neighbouring SMBH inside the quasar J0159+0105 [2] with a mass of 1.3*10^8 solar masses and a size of approximately 50 daylights for the broad line region, which gave a BMI of approximately 1.5*10^8 kg/m^2 – but was that a healthy number? Should it not be below 25? It did seem a little bit high …

“I wish someone could tell me how large my mass actually was”, the SMBH pondered to itself. “And maybe whether I look fat in this suit”, it said looking at the torus gas cloud surrounding it.

The SMBH was living closely surrounded by it’s very bright friend, the quasar. The quasar was just as bright as the SMBH was dark. Together they were the center of their very own universe, or rather, their very own galaxy, floating and spiraling on a journey through the universe.

While the SMBH preferred to lurk in it’s own shadows, almost swallowing itself in the attempt to avoid the party, the bright quasar was quite opposite. It shined with a luminosity about 4 trillion times the above mentioned sun [3], and enjoyed being the center of any attention that anyone would like to give it.

And while the SMBH had low self esteem because of its heavy mass and its almost non-existent chances of ever becoming a model like the sun, the quasar on the other hand was shining through and feeling exceptional energetic and unstoppable. “I am Quasar, hear me roar!”. It did not actually roar, like you would expect it to – but you could almost hear it across the universe, in it’s own radio emitting language. If you could only translate it into lion language, I am sure it would pretty much sound like a roar.

Meanwhile the SMBH sulked in inside the quasar, like a devouring hole, trying to eat it’s quasar friend from the inside.

One day the Quasar has had it. “Enough!” it proclaimed, while blowing a magnificent fume of high speed particles through a blazar jet. (“Nevermore”, a raven echoed somewhere on a planet named earth, and some dude named Edgar wrote it down, but that’s a whole different story [4]). “Enough with the sulking already. We are going to get your mass and all of the other masses of our dear SMBH friends in the universe measured, and you’ll see – your BMI is perfectly fine I’m sure”.

The SMBH almost lightened up a bit, but it did not really, it was just some gas orbiting around its  event horizon, which made it seem so. Nevertheless, it did continue as if nothing had been said, pretending it didn’t care and that it didn’t matter, but the quasar knew that its friends inner darkness did not always reflect its actual mood and that something actually did matter quite much, even though the matter was hiding in the darkness. And so the quasar started sending out signals to whoever might want to measure or calculate the masses of several black holes.

Time passed. Several billion years passed actually, but the quasar was really patient. Time did not really exist in its mind, since it was so heavy and even heavier considering the black kernel inside it, that time bend around it, making the time seem to pass rather fast. In the blink of its imaginary eye, it seemed like a billion years, maybe more [5],  have passed in the outer world before somewhere else in the universe, some human beings had read the signals and decided – like out of the blue – to measure the masses of some SMBHs.

“Why are we doing this again?”, one student asked, while trying to understand the calculations.
“Because we want to know!”

But the real answer was of course, because they were manipulated by the signals of the distant quasar signals from the even more distant past of more than a billion years. “Measure me!” The signals insisted subconsciously. “Measure the mass of my SMBH friend. And all of our friends”. And so the students did. They worked day and night, until their hard work payed of. Maybe even two days and two nights – nobody really cares about that kind of time frame in the scale of the universe.

<insert what the students actually did and what they’ve found out here, and the BMI of the SMBH – did it actually look good in it’s bathing suit for bathing in the light of its Quasar with the Torus of dusty gas around it?>

And they all lived happily ever after, until the end of the illusion of time. Well, almost. The quasars of the universe were happy for a while, but in the end, the black holes inside them sucked all the energy out of every single one of them, leaving the space surrounding them dark, empty and apparently completely soulless. Yes, so it seemed. What was really going on inside of the black holes, was a whole different story, and their well kept secret, not to be discovered until a few billion years from now, on the human time scale.

To be continued in a few billion years (or like now, if you are a photon).

På gensyn

Hun satte sig på trappestenen og kiggede ud i mørket. Et stykke derfra stod de tre ensomme træer i tæt klynge. Uden beskyttelse mod stormen, som for igennem dem og lavede en gevaldig hul larm … som et arrigt dyr der med dyb brummen insisterede på sin eksistensberettigelse og herskede det tomme rum omkring hende.

Den bragede igennem luften og direkte igennem de ensomme træer, de ellers så trygge buske og de kolde i røven cykelstativer, som stod fast på deres ret – til hvad som helst, bare det ikke involverede at flytte sig. En lille plastpose der sad fast på en af cyklerne, der stadig stod ret i stativet, raslede uroligt men ganske vedholdende. Vedholdende som stormen.

Læs resten

Søndags-apocalypse

Klokken var 8 en søndag morgen. Hun sad i toget på vej ind til København, sammen med diverse andre fulderikker, som var på vej hjem fra byen. Burde de ikke køre i modsat retning – hjem fra København? Men hvor mange gange havde hun ikke selv vågnet op på endestationen i Høje Taastrup og bandet over at skulle vente på næste tog for at komme tilbage?

Og der sad de så. Hun på en hemmelig mission og de almindelige dødelige omkring hende, hvis stank godt kunne afsløre dem som de halvdøde zombier de snart ville forvandle sig til. De kørte alle i cirkler, nogle mere bevidste end andre. Ind i mellem krydsede deres verdener. Som nu. Læs resten

Dagen derpå

Bom-chack … bom-chack … bom-chack …

På arbejdet sad hendes kollega og kastede bolden mod en væg, mens han ventede på at et eller andet kompilerede et eller andet færdigt. Eller noget. Stormen havde lagt sig, og uden for var der stille regn. Ikke hærgende eller aggressiv som uvejret i går, nærmest bare rolig, afmålt og vedholdende. Sådan lidt selvsikker, som den egentlig var ligeglad med hvad man syntes om den. Men måske netop derfor syntes hun godt om den.

Der var ikke ret meget anden udsigt end de fængselsagtige mure der omringede hende, og den fortsatte stille regn. Og lyden af bolden mod væggen for en kort stund, inden han tabte den og hun tabte tråden.

Læs resten

Stormfuldendt

Det var en mørk og stormfuld nat …

Hun sad indenfor med sin varme kop te, som efterhånden var knap så varm, fordi hun havde glemt alt om den og den egentlig bare stod der til pynt og for at sætte rammerne om situationen med det perfekte stormvejr der hærgede udenfor, mens hun trygt sad indenfor. Egentlig ville hun have lavet kakao, men der var ikke mere mælk.

Hun havde havde krydset farefulde veje på sin jernhest for at komme hjem. Kæmpet mod flyvende plader, men heldigvis undgået de ikke-eksisterende flyvende tallerkener. Passeret hjernedøde affaldscontainere, som pludselig også havde fået deres eget liv, og som zombier fulgte en vej uden retningssans. Væltede ned på gaden uden formål eller mening, lidt i stil med fulde mennesker en lørdag morgen i København. Læs resten