Here we are, like mites on a plum. And the plum is this little planet and it goes around an insignificant local star, the sun.
And that star is on the obscure outskirts of an ordinary galaxy, the milky way, which contains 400 billion other stars.
And this galaxy is just one of something like 100 billion other galaxies that make up the universe.
And it is now beginning to look, this universe is one of an enormous number, maybe even an infinite number, of other closed off universes.
So the idea that we are central, that we are the reason there is a universe is… pathetic.
We have to simply come to grips with the real universe that we really live in. And if some of our myth and some of our religion is inconsistent with it, it's time to change the myth and the religion.
I feel like if humans came into contact and formed alliances with aliens and the aliens discover “humans are space orcs” on tumblr, they will share the same reaction we do to flat-earthers.
I wanted to share these words from Carl Sagan. As a Stoic, these words put in perspective our worries and how pathetically small the worlds dictatorships truly are.
Pale Blue Dot – Carl Sagan
Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives.
The aggregate of…
students in the social sciences can’t explain it either lol. “people in this country see no merit in studying any subject that cannot go on a resume” that’s because they go to school to get a job! I wonder what larger structural factors contribute to this widespread relationship people have to higher education. maybe this guy can use his big beautiful humanities degree to explain it to us
Thing about Rescue Team DX I don’t like is that it’ll tweak small visual things about the original and it’ll take away some really neat little things about the original
regulus would only be known for his death. for the bodiless casket lowered into the ground, for the betrayal, for the letter. for three letters — rab.
what he had once been would be forgotten. a boy with a lisp and a gap between his two front teeth, a young man, his father’s hand on his shoulder, his fingers digging in his throat.
a boy who hid in the garden with his brother, and with whom he read stories. a boy and his brother, always more talented, always more intelligent, always more interesting, always better. few were the people in the black family, a family of shadows and aristocracy and screams that died in the back of one’s throat, that looked for the light. sirius did, and regulus stayed in his shadow, bitter and resentful.
a young man, his father’s son. quiet conversations of little importance held into ballrooms. dark ink staining parchment, and eyes that look up to the sky, his only escape, really. stolen glances, faux superiority that not even he believes in, and a waltz of imminent death. a boy made of glass — to shatter, to die. it had been his destiny from the start, hadn’t it? the spare.
a betrayal. a locket, a last letter, a quiet cave, a seemingly unimportant death. fingers sank into his body, torn flesh and spilled blood.
On it, everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives.
The aggregate of our joy and suffering. Thousands of confident religions, ideologies and economic doctrines. Every hunter and forager. Every hero and coward. Every creator and destroyer of civilization. Every king and peasant. Every young couple in love. Every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer. Every teacher of morals. Every corrupt politician. Every superstar. Every supreme leader. Every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there.
On a mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam.
The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot.
Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel, on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner. How frequent their misunderstandings. How eager they are to kill one another. How fervent their hatreds.
Our posturings, our imagined self-importance. The delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe, are challenged by this point of pale light.
Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.
The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate.
Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.
It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image.
To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot. The only home we've ever known.
gale voice here feel the pulse of the magic in my heart that will eventually be the end of me. im on my knees before you like an animal showing its belly. im in excrutiating pain bc of the contact with the magic in my heart but please dont take your hand away please dont stop touching me
i can very clearly tell that moffat is writing eleven from a place of "he's such a cool and smart and powerful guy and you should admire him so much" but every time this happens in an episode i just roll my eyes. i know that maybe there's people out there that like the doctor being like that but nine and ten sold me on the idea of the doctor inherently being this hundreds-y/o alien being that's lived for so long but still heartbreakingly down to earth and it's just hard. to hook up the wires of my brain. w eleven's era. when this is what drew me to the show