#helium factory

[jokingluna]

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil,

How much has your work been inspired by Goncharov (1973)?

The whole of Season 2 of Good Omens was inspired by Goncharov. Dottie and Sadie, Aziraphale and Crowley's wives, were basically my take on Perdita and Brigitte, the two tourists who worked in the condom factory, and the whole Goncharov helium balloons and clowns sequence. For that matter, without Goncharov it would never have occurred to me to have made the comedy in episode 4 the fact that Dottie and Sadie and their husbands have unknowingly all been booked in the same hotel room, or to have had the Archangel Gabriel played by a chinchilla. Yes.

[charyou-tree]

I need people to understand that Uranium is an eldritch horror

I'm not talking about radiation, or nuclear weapons, or anything that you can do with uranium, I mean its mere existence on Earth is a reminder of cosmic horrors on a scale you can barely conceive of.

When a nuclear power plant uses Uranium to boil water and spin steam turbines to keep the lights on, they're unleashing the fossilized energy of the destroyed heart of an undead star.

Allow me to elaborate:

In the beginning, there were hydrogen and helium. The primordial fires of the Big Bang produced almost exclusively the two lightest elements, along with a minuscule trace of lithium. It was a start, but that's not much to build a universe out of. Fortunately, the universe is full of element factories. We call them "stars".

Stars are powered by nuclear fusion, smooshing light elements together to make heavier elements, and releasing tremendous amounts of energy in the process, powering the star and making it shine. This goes on for millions to billions of years depending on the stars mass (although not how you might think, the bigger stars die young), the vast majority of that time spent fusing hydrogen into yet more helium. Eventually, the hydrogen in the core starts to run low, and if the star is massive enough it starts to fuse helium into carbon, then oxygen, neon, and so on up through successively heavier elements.

There's a limit to this though:

This chart shows how much energy is released if you were to create a given element/isotope out of the raw protons and neutrons that make it up, the Nuclear Binding Energy. Like in everyday life, rolling downhill on this chart releases energy. So, starting from hydrogen on the far left you can rapidly drop down to helium-4 releasing a ton of energy, and then from there to carbon-12 releasing a fair bit more.

But, at the bottom of this curve is iron-56, the most stable isotope. This is the most efficient way to pack protons and neutrons together, and forming it releases some energy. But once its formed, that's it. You're done. Its already the most stable, you can't get any more energy out of it, and in fact if you want to do anything to it and make it into a different element you're going to have to put energy in.

So, when a massive star's core starts to fill up with iron, the star is doomed. Iron is like ash from the nuclear fire that powers stars, its what's leftover when all the fuel is used up. When this happens, the core of the star isn't producing energy and can't support itself anymore and catastrophically collapses, triggering a supernova explosion which heralds the death of the star.

What kind of stellar-corpse gets left behind depends again on how massive the star is. If its really big, more than ~30 times the mass of the sun and its probably going to form a black hole and whatever was in there is gone for good. But if the star is a bit less massive, between 8-25 solar masses, it leaves behind a marginally less-destroyed corpse.

The immense weight of the outer layers of the star falling down on the core compresses the electrons of the atoms into their nuclei, resulting in them reacting with protons and turning them all into neutrons, which creates a big ball of almost pure neutrons a couple miles across, but containing the entire mass of the star's core, 3-5 sun's worth.

This is the undead heart of the former star: a neutron star.

If, like many stars, this one wasn't alone but had a sibling, it can end up with two neuron stars orbiting each other, like a pair of zombies acting out their former lives. If they get close enough together, their intense gravity warps the fabric of spacetime as they orbit, radiating away their orbital energy as gravitational waves, slowing them down and bringing them closer together until they eventually collide.

The resulting kilonova explosion destroys both of the neutron stars, most likely rendering the majority of what's left into a black hole, but not before throwing out a massive cloud of neutron-rich shrapnel. This elder-god blood-splatter from the collision of the undead hearts of former stars contains massive nuclei with hundreds to thousands of neutrons, the vast majority of which are heinously unstable and decay away in milliseconds or less. Most of their decay products are also unstable and decay quickly as well, eventually falling apart into small enough clusters to be stable and drift off into the universe becoming part of the cosmic dust between the stars.

However,

Some of the resulting massive elements are merely almost stable. They would like to decay, but for quantum-physics reasons decaying is hard and slow for them, so they stick around much longer than you might expect. Uranium is one such element, with U-238 having a half-life of around 4.5 billion years, about the same as the age of the Earth, and its spicier cousin U-235 which still has a respectable 200 million year half life.

These almost-stable isotopes were only able to be created in the fiery excess of energy in a neutron star collision, and are the only ones that stick around long enough to carry a fraction of that energy to the era where hairless apes could figure out that a particular black rock made of them was emitting some kind of invisible energy.

So as I said at the beginning, Uranium is significant because it stores the fossilized energy of the destroyed heart of an undead star, and we can release that energy at will if we set it up just right.

When you say it like that, is it any shock that the energy in question will melt your face off and rot your bones from the inside if you stay near it too long?

[sudokuplayer]

MY LOVE IS A WEAPON THROWN ONTO THE OBLIVION OF YOUR BODY (taken from booklet of original art and essays by Sufjan Stevens, written to accompany his new album Javelin)

read essays ↓

1.MY LOVE My first love was an involuntary sound – the music of the spheres – a subdued, white-noise shuddering of my heart, a fluster of hummingbird vibrations that I could taste in the prenatal hemispheres of my mouth, body against body and brain against brain, two conjoined selves conjuring an off-shore thunderstorm in the horizontal distance, dazzling with flashes of metallic music and elemental chaos in the safe harbor of my mother’s womb. There was no light and no dark, no semblance of simile or semaphore. There was only the blurred and audible presence of a distant and divine voice hovering above the waters where I balanced between the prism of absence and presence on an inflatable dirigible of sea foam, wandering into the oleaginous abyss with a half-smile of hazardry and wizardry – my maiden voyage into the “unbeknownst” of oblivion. For what did I really know at this point in my primordial mindlessness? Nothing at all. I was struck dumb, created from ignorance and ether, first without function or features, then without order or form. I was sensation and consciousness postponed, a wet and placid portion of monotonous fruit cut in quarters awaiting heaven’s blessing. My only occupation at this point was to occupy, be occupied, preoccupy, and prevail nature in a womb-world of benevolence and buoyancy. The music of the heartbeat of the universe danced me to sleep. Within this realm, I was love and life supreme, undivided by thought, word and deed, a small promise kept until the act of doing would undo me for good. My birth was my undoing. And then I was born into oblivion.

2.IS I remember in college, falling in love for the first time, two spring months of rapture, residing on the tail end of a helium balloon. I was so giddy about everything: washing the dishes, tying my shoes, scrambling eggs, binding books, pulling berries off juniper trees. My infatuation had such an arrogant persuasion on the world around me. Everything as metaphor ascribed with romance. I remember, while mowing lawns on the college campus, finding an injured fledgling crow by the dining hall. I carried it to the biology lab, where we called a woman who ran an animal sanctuary from her home. She met us on a bike with a wicker basket. “You are doing the universe a great favor,” she said, holding the bird to her breast, like Mother Goose. The event provided endless fodder: for prose poems and folk songs and long conversations on the roof of the aspirin factory, where we got drunk on Boone’s Farm sangria, speculating on cosmic intentions and the order of the universe. So much meaning, so little time. I was young and dumb and in love. Guided by a perverse curiosity and a voracious sensation-of-the-imagination pivoting at the tip of my tongue, I marveled at the mysteries of life laid out before me, awaiting in the calm commotion between innocence and experience.

3.A WEAPON And then experience pummeled me. Many years later, after the long-suffering exhaustion of life had driven me into the bleak underbelly of realism, my most profound thought was sad and static: that nothing really matters, nobody loves me, and loneliness would always be my most devoted companion. In my new sobering worldview, absent of love, I began to encounter everything as an object without meaning, without modifier. The homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway was just a homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway. There was no metaphor, no rapture, no cosmic intentions. I had to ask myself: does this make the man, the newspaper, the subway, or myself any less meaningful? No. Quite the opposite. For what resided in that substantial vacancy where I was always prone to symbolize the world to death is exactly what I needed right then: Opportunity. Presence of Mind. Peace On Earth. Stable Stoicism. Absence of Metaphor. Responsibility. And Hard Facts. That was my prayer: to shake off the doting artistry of an over-eager poet with a proclivity to create dreams from doldrums; to approach the world as a concrete object, a thing to be held, not a thing to behold, or allegorized; to remain at peace and in careful jurisprudence in spite of the resentful intonation of my overarching loneliness that devastated innocent bystanders with all the magic castles of the imagination. I told myself: I must snuff out the candle of candy-corn dreams. I must soldier on like a dead-end daydream undeterred. I must be steadfast in the stolid presence and essence of common sense and survival. I must be true to life internal and reside in resignation at last.

4.THROWN My second love was less ecstatic, but more tragic: the “gift” of sight – an elemental flash of lightning, which struck me like a bag of metal shavings thrown out onto ice reflecting back at the centerpiece of my sternum. A sucker punch to the chest. My cold consciousness came into sharp focus, rattled by illuminating waves invading everything around me. The light was loud and extraordinary. And even with my eyes closed, my pupils began pontificating at the pornography of sight, and I was momentarily carved into madness. Seeing is believing is birth. I shuddered and shirked at the tangible evidence of something else – the others – the imposition of a sensation outside myself, in which everything was separated into opposable armies: the land from the waters, the air from the earth, the seasons from the doldrums, the seen from the unseen, sin from sainthood, light from dark, good from evil. Everything was put in its place by the curse of namesake. The world was now before me, beneath me, above me, and ultimately against me, a pressure foot pressed down on all sides. I felt a cold claustrophobia, empty and alone, trans-natal and tragic, baffled by the violence of this new environmental context. And to think I was just a silly beansprout of a thing shivering under the medical lights, squirming like an open earthworm, now tasked with this terrible act of naming. God gave me a pen and a pad of parchment paper. “Transcribe your feelings and your findings,” she said. “Do your thing. First thought, best thought.” I did as I was commanded, a dutiful sea urchin inching its way to the possibility of words and wisdom.

5.ONTO A world without language was once the indication of certain death. Soundless, voiceless, nameless vapor. A typography of empty vessels. The void! But now, what of the tragedy of names, spoken into existence with the demystification of words? I was culprit and complicit, identifying all the divergences, differentiations, variations, permutations, diversities, dichotomies and double entendres. Categorizing the animals, cutting them down to size, organizing the parts of the body with the parts of speech, a fanatical grammar-game of possession, domination and death. I had to ask myself: Is this manner of identification in the name of higher knowledge even if it disregards purpose, analysis, and compassion (observation absent of intention)? And how could it be undertaken without idolatry and ulterior motive? I desired the objectivity of the photography of the baby-brain, whose fuzzy visionary reception was a delightful nebula of perfumed consciousness and joy. I wanted to see the world coherently and without discretion, discernment, reduction, and deduction – unintelligible intelligence. Instead I began to perceive how intimate knowledge generates prosperity (fullness) and progeny (fruitfulness) – of ideas and offspring. To be “made known” was to be consummated: “Adam knew Eve” – intercourse as discourse (knowledge as physical/sexual engagement). To know someone was to take possession (to gain access, in confidence and with confidentiality). The exchange would potentially unveil the secret knowledge between lovers (the nominative ordinances of arousal) – wherein posterity would become the observable antecedents of this sacred wisdom, and pleasure would be its misfortune (of infatuation and love, of chaos and order). My sexual discourse began to die a slow death of observation and objectification, a nonsense category of substances seen and deemed believable, predicating a cosmic break from the universe: a psychic rebirth, from which invisible things transformed into figures of speech, wherein figures of speech were left dead in the wake of rivulets and rivers, drowning in a molten waterfall of dread, where they would meet their maker in linguistic whimsy. My death was now new life. My reincarnation, a reverse sublimation. I was made known; therefore, I knew nothing.

6.THE For a short time, my pet peeves were my shortcomings: dry skin in the morning – brushing off the bed sheets with bits of outer insulation from my body. Was I molting? I needed to drink more bitter herbs, I thought. I had chronic stomach pain, below the clavicle, a small fist of air. Sweet antacid, mint leaves, fennel seed tea. Invisible Anxiety. The pain in my leg: a hypochondriac’s dream. Soothing myself with palm oil and camphor. Small applications on the surface. At dinner with guests, supplementing aspirin with ice-water, saying very little otherwise, a friend agreed with everyone’s assessment: “Yes, sometimes you are cold and unfeeling. You could warm it up a little.” My apparent coolness – was it a matter of objective safety? That remote vacancy which I brought to every engagement, keeping the world at arm’s length, the anthropologist’s vantage point, sustaining the presumptive: was that my vocation – the judicious spectator, an odd outlier outlining all this activity while staying behind the line of sight? As the youngest sibling, I was always evaluating my older sisters with fierce judgment from the corner of the room, just out of reach: eavesdropping on phone conversations, catching glimpses of padded bras, curling irons, and maxi pads passed between casual doorways. Taking stock of the panoply of premature adulthood (teenage pregnancy), unruly rebellion (sneaking out at night), clumsy and combative excursions with our wicked step-mother (cat fights with elegantly finger-nailed fisticuffs). I watched from a dutiful distance, careful not to engage, harboring a catalog of tragicomic events and all their moral assessments in order to avoid the worst-case scenario for myself. I was in the world, but not of it. I learned from the mistakes of others: that I was nothing more than a mistake waiting to happen, potential energy. I learned from the mistletoe to keep watch overhead so as to avoid the dangling modifier of accidental affection. I learned from the stone in my shoe to keep walking through the pain with a staggering refrain in my step, a constant reminder of the brokenness of my body and the indefatigable self-loathing of my own self-consciousness.

7.OBLIVION My third love was a surprise affection – ticklish touching and tender swaddles of terry towels and cotton cloth wrapped in armfuls of goose down feathers transfixed in the careful undertaking of childcare. A sensual delight! I was an object to be objectified, a thing to squeeze and prickle, caress and carry about in a breadbasket. I grew from a pinecone to a pine tree, from a newt to a dinosaur, from a poppy-seed to a poppy flower bursting with fireworks. This love then transferred its fornications onto something wet, wild and ornithological – a flying, feathery python ascending to its countenance as a bastion of bridegrooms in a flaming aviary chariot of leathery kisses all aimed at my elbows. Hope is a thing with bird feeders. So I watched the feathered fowl crowd around the seeds and suet, grubs and grains with dinosaur intensity, beaks and claws doing their vast prehistoric business with messy execution. My lovers cawed at their community of plumy mishaps like transcendental mother hens: nuthatch and creeper, tanager and titmouse, blue jay and junco gallivanting together like an armful of woolen throw blankets clapping the dust from their ornamental features. Our fairy dance of foreplay lasted for days. Cat calls as birdsong with balloons, iambic pentameter poems, chimes that rhymed with clanging crystals hung on fishing line, and all the fanciful costumes with sequins and fringe, flowered bell bottoms, metallic body suits, reggae music, ballroom dancing, charm bracelets, diamond rings, glimmering little earrings with fly-fishing ornaments, and, on the last day, a very long and serious monologue about global warming. Our lovemaking was quick and witty, a little slutty and clumsy – nothing more than a jaunt, a quick choreography of slaps and body slams, two pigeons in a mosh pit, working things out in juvenilia. Nature had done its work. Afterward we lounged together in the afterglow with soft pillow talk and dreams of nest eggs and parenting, protecting, foraging, feeding, and changing diapers, all the domestic labors of love. But for now, in a warm bird bath, sunning ourselves with a glistening glow, I could only think of the sweet bliss of here and now, the wetness of loving kisses on my nape, my neck, my back, my rump, my foreshortened wings and a sweet nectar nightcap. Hope is a thing deferred, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

8.OF My fourth love was peripatetic: a suitcase stored in an overhead bin on an airplane. Things beget things beget responsibilities. I procrastinated my life by traveling far from it. A day before the voyage, I stayed up late in the polar forces of the night, diligently packing the baggage on the couch, opened up like can of tuna fish, a glass of lemon juice on the nightstand (master cleanse), the Siamese cat washing itself, the dollar store dishes in the sink, my dirty clothes in a paper bag. The last time I had left for this kind of trip, my things were in boxes in one room on the second floor of a gated town house in God-knows-where, New York. Now everything had been transferred as in a swap meet, boxes upon boxes, things upon things, other voices, other rooms. The living room was a labyrinth of speculative journeys, a crossword puzzle of travel prompts. Outside, gale force winds rose to the occasion, knocking on the windows like unwanted guests. I imagined the weather overtaking everything in an apocalyptic frenzy: cups and saucers trembling in tongues, plastic wrap coming undone in a transparent wedding train, pillowcases falling over our heads like hard hats, ceiling fans circumnavigating the neighborhood like helicopter rides, the colored crayons on the kitchen shelf thrown asunder to make slapdash hieroglyphs all over the window panes, the mysterious penmanship of the gods! My mind was preoccupied by disaster, a force majeure, an act of God, a ball of yarn, and the four horses of the Apocalypse. I wanted nothing of it: this origami suitcase lifestyle of travel and transition. I wanted to be here and now. I wanted silence, solace, and stillness. I wanted the simplest of things: a bowl of vanilla ice cream, a warm bath, and a quiet place to sit and stitch my hand-crafted cross-stitch of rainbows and sailboats framing a sexy cartoon portrait of Dionne Warwick diligently working the lines for the Psychic Friends Network from way back in the 1990s, when every solution to every problem was just a phone call away.

9.YOUR History repeats itself, defeats itself, cheats itself, berates and beats itself. I am not historic. I am histrionics. I must hate my mother and my father. I must hate myself and take up the cross and be born again. In this way, my fifth love was an immutable shadow following me with sticky tricks and schemes, a cancerous contamination of the mind that could only be cured with the deadly venom of a cone snail. I couldn’t quite shake it, the cobalt-blue memory of a ghost haunting my sophistry, a prescient reminder that the knowledge of faith and the substance of hope were right behind me this entire time (and not something to pursue, or follow, like an ornamental object on the horizon, dazzling, elusive and alive in the distant future). The Divine Inside was a “previously known encounter.” I could never see it face to face, but only feel it in my shadow, the former patterns of an aura left behind, pushing forward, pursuing, persuading, steering and navigating my memory through the valley of the shadow of death. I wanted so desperately to “have and to hold” the real substance of things (evidence!), the physical, intimate engagement with the body and the blood, which I actively sought out in transcendental activity, prayer and supplication, the sacraments, the feasts of the saints, a metaphysical substance to salivate and sublimate within the natural order of things. But this was a false pretense. God is not natural, but supernatural. The real material of divinity is ineffable, unassailable, unknowable, unutterable, and unreal. The evidence of providence is not within our line of sight, nor within our grasp, but instead beyond and behind our physical kinesphere. It is unapproachable, unspeakable, unobservable, and ultimately “erstwhile”. And yet still we continue to feel it “under our skin” and “within the universe” of our own personal history: The Past/The Passed/The Repossessed. God is our delayed consciousness – the nameless, faceless dichotomy of our secret truth. And we are made in its indistinguishable appearance. Therefore our own true “image” is without a name or a face – a baseless, shapeless cloud hovering above the waters, a countenance of empty atmosphere (signifying nothing) – a gothic apparition, a vision of love, a dance of the eternal travesty of life, a burrowing beetle of impenetrating curiosity. Digging for the true grit of life in the eternal dirt of the universe. 

10.BODY  My last love was a kind of science fiction. I was out running errands at the mall when I saw a fleet of lampshades falling like flying saucers from the sky. The alien robots came to me in an escalating beam of light and said: “We come in peace! The obverse seeks to make its face shine upon you, while the inverse hides in shame.” They did their thing with my body, prodding and poking around for some good news, but at first I would have none of it. I struggled and squirmed under nylon restraints strapped onto a stainless steel operating table. I was a basket case of curmudgeonly vitriol, pointing out everything that was wrong with the world around me: Fossil fuels. Cancer. Money. Greed. Sales Tax. Frozen Yoghurt. Religion. Varicose Veins. Junk Mail. But the alien robots were unflappable. They said, “We just need a little DNA, not a diatribe,” while swabbing the insides of my mouth with a cottony Q-tip. Then, after careful intubation and a slow drip of aesthesia, I eased into the abyss. They removed my clothes and covered my body with a marshmallowy spray foam. They swaddled me into a warm cocoon of maroon goo, where I remained in stasis to the end of the ages, slowly resuming into the soft, pillowy features of my former self – pre-natal, premature, pre-conceived – a slippery and succulent primordial membrane of soupy warmth and illuminating agency awaiting, once again, the cosmic journey laid out before me like a yellow-brick road of possibilities – the secret oblivion of love, the “unbeknownst!” Within this pinprick vision, I saw a tapestry of afterbirth in afterglow as an addendum to an immaculate after-thought of rapturous joy. I was born-again in fullness and truth. I was a peanut. I was a pretzel. I was a pan-fried shrimp. I was pandemonium personified. I was once again myself waiting to happen again and again and again and again and again … until the end.

— Sufjan Stevens

[moveslikekeithrichards]

ever since i saw your post about the kitten names i cant stop identifying every pairing of two things as potential kitten names. hand & foot. please & thank you. crossword & sudoku. true & false. toys & games. accident & emergency. shake & bake. time & date. hydrogen & helium. i already have four cats but i keep thinking "oh man i should get two kittens so i can name them phaser & flanger". consonant & vowel. binary & decimal. it never ends

you need to get a job naming pets like the guy who sits in the crayon factory & names all the colors

[ciera-richez]

For argument sake let's say the phone call was real. A lot of people are upset FOR Rob because those of us with a brain know that he values his privacy above all other things and this hoe decides nope that doesn't matter. I've seen people say "haven't you heard a couple tease each other" or "it's not that deep" or "he's clearly laughing so it isn't that serious"

People laugh for a lot of reasons. Discomfort is one of them. If for the sake of argument the phone call is true she put him in a bad position. And what is he going to do instead of sound like he tripped in a helium factory? Scream at her where everyone can hear?

You make some very good points here.

[i-was-today-years-old-when]

i learned that North Korea is obsessed with Choco Pies from S Korea. There's a black market for them, and factories once used them to pay worker bonuses. In 2014, S Korean activists sent 10K pies to NK with helium balloons. After an injured NK defector crossed the DMZ in 2017, he was given a lifetime supply (x)

[theexclusivestory]

Stellar Evolution: An In-Depth Journey into the Lifecycle of Stars

Stellar evolution tells the fascinating story of how stars are born, change, and eventually die. It's a process that takes billions of years and has a big impact on the universe and even life itself. In this article, we'll explore the journey stars take throughout their lives, looking at the different stages they go through and what causes them. Let's dive into the details of stellar evolution and understand how these celestial objects live and evolve.

Formation of Stars: Birth from Cosmic Clouds

Stars begin their journey in huge clouds of gas and dust called nebulae. These clouds are like giant factories that have all the ingredients needed to make a star. When something like a shockwave or a disturbance happens, parts of the nebula start to get denser. This denser area is where a new star begins to form. It starts as what we call a protostar. As more and more material gets pulled in by gravity, the protostar grows bigger and denser. Eventually, it becomes so dense and hot that nuclear fusion starts happening in its core. This is when the star "turns on" and starts shining.

The Main Sequence Phase: A Star's Brightest Period

When a star begins nuclear fusion, it enters its main phase, which is its brightest time. In this phase, hydrogen atoms in the star's center combine to form helium, releasing a lot of energy. This energy pushes outward, balancing the star's gravity and, keeping it stable. How long this phase lasts depends on how big the star is. Bigger stars go through this phase faster than smaller ones.

Stellar Metamorphosis: Beyond the Main Sequence

Once a star runs out of its hydrogen fuel in the center, it starts changing and moves away from its main form. What happens next depends on how big the star is to begin with. Different-sized stars go through different changes, each with its own special things happening.

Red Giant Phase: The Stellar Expansion

When stars like our Sun start running out of hydrogen, they enter a phase called the red giant phase. At this point, the star gets bigger and expands outward, but its core gets smaller and hotter. This makes the outer layers of the star glow red. Inside the star, helium starts fusing together, creating even more energy. This red giant phase shows that the star is getting closer to the end of its life.

Planetary Nebulae and White Dwarfs

When a star becomes a red giant, it swells up and eventually sheds its outer layers into space. This creates a beautiful cloud called a planetary nebula. What's left behind is the core of the star, which becomes a white dwarf. A white dwarf is a small, dense object about the size of Earth. It's made mostly of a special kind of matter called electron-degenerate matter. Over a very long time, white dwarfs cool down and become less and less bright. Eventually, they become invisible and mark the end of the star's life for smaller stars.

Supernovae and Neutron Stars: The Fate of Massive Stars

When big stars run out of fuel, they collapse suddenly, causing a massive explosion called a supernova. This explosion is so bright that it can outshine entire galaxies. During this explosion, heavy elements made inside the star's core are scattered into space, which later helps in forming new stars.

After a supernova, the core of the big star can shrink even more, forming a neutron star. Neutron stars are very small, like cities, and are made mostly of tightly packed neutrons. They have strong magnetic fields and spin very fast, leading to interesting things like pulsars and magnetars.

Black Holes: The Mysterious End

When really big stars run out of fuel, something incredible happens. They collapse under their own gravity, squeezing down into a tiny, super-dense point. This creates something called a black hole. Black holes are mighty, with gravity so strong that not even light can escape from them. They're like cosmic vacuum cleaners, sucking in everything around them. Black holes are mysterious and fascinating, and they impact how galaxies work, shaping the universe in a really big way.

Conclusion

Stellar evolution is like a never-ending story of how stars are born and eventually fade away. It starts with the peaceful formation of baby stars in cloudy areas of space called stellar nurseries. Then, stars grow and shine brightly during their main life phase. But as they run out of fuel, some stars become red giants, swelling in size. Eventually, smaller stars become white dwarfs, while bigger ones explode into supernovae, scattering elements into space. This process helps shape the universe, showing us how everything in space is connected. By studying stars, we learn more about where we come from and our role in the vast cosmos.

FAQs

Who came up with stellar evolution? In the early 1900s, two astronomers named Ejnar Hertzsprung and Henry Norris Russell found a helpful way to compare different stars. They called it the Hertzsprung-Russell (H-R) Diagram. It's like a big chart where scientists can see how stars compare to each other based on their brightness and temperature. This diagram has been super useful in understanding more about stars and how they work.

What are the elements of stellar evolution? These are some of the building blocks found in space i.e. hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, phosphorus, sulfur, chlorine, sodium, magnesium, potassium, calcium, and iron.

What is the lifetime of a star? Very big stars burn through their fuel fast, so they don't live very long, maybe just a few hundred thousand years. But smaller stars use their fuel more slowly, so they can shine for billions of years. However, no matter how big or small a star is, eventually, it starts running out of hydrogen, which is what keeps it shining.

What is the stellar life cycle? Stars go through a cycle of being born, burning fuel, and spreading out material when they die. This cycle is ongoing and helps create elements that fill the universe. Depending on how much stuff a star has (its mass), it follows a different path in its life.

What are the 7 types of stars? Stars come in different types, and scientists classify them based on how hot they are. There are seven groups, starting with the hottest and ending with the coolest. They are named O, B, A, F, G, K, and M stars. O stars are the hottest and brightest, while M stars are the coolest and dimmest.

Read more

[cyanocophrenic]

what if berry but it floats like helium

For some reason, not sure why, I feel like a floatyberry would get just the cruelest possible oompa loompa song. I don't super care for factory tour inflation settings, esp those that more fully conform to the original tropes, but like...

Every once in a while you just need some tiny orange bullies to tell you to your face how badly you fucked up and how your juicy blue ass is floating toward the Decorative Ceiling Blender (tm) and they're gonna make a levitating smoothie with your juices unless you squeak enough helium out by singing the soprano part of the song to level out your buoyancy.

Did those tiny bastards really just rhyme "fat ass" with "helium gas"?

You should be worried about splattering but instead you're taking a few precious seconds to groan at the low-effort songwriting coming at you from far below.

Those weird little orange dudes hate you almost as much as you hate them, but they haven't been allowed to ban you from the factory tours. They're having to get creative with their attempts to get rid of you.

Thinking back, it's a little weird to you that no one tried to stop you snatching the gum this time. Sure, they know you pretty well by now. They know what you're here for when you show up standing at the back of the pack trying to look innocent, and you know they know.

Wow, the pressure feels weird this time. You feel like a bubble full of bubbles. The air up here feels pleasantly warm against your taut belly, which is nice, but you also feel bloated in the strangest way, deliciously heavy and maddeningly light all at once. Ordinarily you'd be halfway to a debilitating orgasm just from the weight and the pressure and the rolling and... hold that thought.

You try to look up. You're drawing ever closer to that spiky thing on the ceiling. Was that always there? This was a set-up, wasn't it?

If you make it out of this one, you should probably start buying your own gum like every other fruit pervert does.

Would burping help? You open your mouth to try to expel some gas, but instead of emitting a crunchy belch, you whistle like a kettle. On the ground far below you, the singing stops, but the music keeps playing. Wait, do they expect you to...

You squeak again in surprise. Being a fat, gassy fruit balloon is one thing, but singing in front of people??

That's embarrassing!

Those spikes are getting close, though. Probably best to swallow that pride like you seem to swallow everything else.

[clavissionary-position]

Gilly Vonka and the Cookie Factory

warning: Gilbert spoilers cuz this whole thing is just a shitty allegory for his route

Luke: Ooh. A golden ticket. In my honey. That I definitely didn't buy at the store. Nice

Jin: My Mongrel Eyepatch senses are tingling

Luke: Nah, you're just overthinkin things

Jin: You trying to gaslight me?

Luke: Me? Gaslight? I don't even know what that word means. And I definitely didn't learn it from my dad

Jin: Well yeah cuz he's dead

Luke: What? WHEN?

Luke: Somebody patch me thru to Obsidian

Luke: FATHER CAN YOU HEAR ME

--

Emma: I'm not eating this, Clavis. And there's something sticking out of it

Clavis: Hahaha, those are the bunny ears!

Emma: No, I mean this... ticket-looking thing...

Emma + Clavis: *grabs ticket at the same time*

Clavis: Gasp, can it be

Emma: Uh, whatever it is, you can have it

Gilbert: What's all the fun commotion over here? Gasp, is that a golden ticket?

Emma: It's gold and ticket-shaped, so I guess so?

Gilbert: You know what this means! You've been invited to the world-renown Obsidian Cookie Factory

Gilbert: Sigh. Weep. I'm so jealous. I wish I could go. SNiffle

Emma: You can have my ticket

Clavis: Whoa whoa, hold on now. It's my ticket too

Gilbert: Wrong. That ticket is for the Little Rabbit

Clavis: Says who?

Gilbert: Says the Emperor of the Cookie Factory, whom I speak for. I don't make the rules, I just enforce them. Look at me twirl my cane

Clavis: Well I see no reason to doubt you even though no one has heard from or seen the Emperor of the Cookie Factory in 10 years

Gilbert: Baking cookies is a full-time job. The Emperor doesn't have time to run around twirling his cane for just anybody. Little Rabbit, are you watching me twirl my cane? Don't think I won't notice you ignoring me if you stand on my eyepatch side. I have eyes everywhere

Roderich: *from the bushes* She's ignoring you, Your Highness

Clavis: Cyran, is she ignoring me too?

Cyran: *from beside Roderich* I don't know. You have eyes, you tell me

Cyran: Say, you sound familiar. Have we met before?

Roderich: *randomly inhales helium* I don't know. Obsidian's a big place. Is that your golden ticket?

Cyran: What?

Roderich: *points to the golden ticket sticking out of Cyran's hair*

Cyran: Ew, I don't want this

Gilbert: Even though I placed it so gently...

Cyran: What?

Roderich: I didn't say anything

Cyran: It sounded like you

Roderich: *microdoses helium* I think you're mistaken

Cyran: Are you gaslighting me?

Roderich: Are you taking the fucking ticket or not

To be continued

--

Partially inspired by this hilarious post with randonauticrap here, oh and that hilarious fic thenovelartist wrote based on my headcanon about gilbert being the host of a children's television tv show. I'll link if i can find it again

[niceandaccurategoodomensanalysis]

A guide to the creation of the universe: from Crowley Starmaker to space missions - part 1

A look at the history of our universe, following the opening scene of the second series of Good Omens.

This analysis was originally written for a very special event that took place last November, which marked a milestone in the history of astronomy! Read the next part here.

I: Euclid shows us the stars as we have never seen them before

The insatiable human curiosity about stars and planets led to the launch of the Euclid space mission, which explores visible space and provides us with complex and mind-boggling images of known and lesser-known celestial bodies.

Let's take a look at some of the details together, following the magnificent opening scene of the second series of Good Omens, which shows us Crowley in his angelic version as he launches the universe.

At the beginning of the second season, 'Before the Beginning', we are confronted with Crowley as we have never seen him before, in his angelic form, before the Fall.

The angel is alone, in the middle of what appears to be a dense web, and when he sees a light passing by, he tries to get its attention. That light turns out to be none other than Aziraphale, who is responding to Crowley's request to help him "start the engine" of the gigantic machine he has constructed: a nebula.

After a few moments, and with a 'let there be light', everything around the two angels explodes with dazzling and wonderful colours: the universe is born. The Pillars of Creation stand proudly before them, clearly visible.

Crowley's excitement is palpable: the angel smiles with all 32 of his teeth and expresses his joy with high-pitched squeaks and squeals. To Aziraphale's bewildered question as to what was before their eyes, Crowley begins to explain that this nebula was a star factory, and that gas and dust were forming thousands of stars and protoplanets.

Aziraphale's subsequent revelation that the entire universe would disappear in 6,000 years as a result of the Apocalypse triggers Crowley's downfall, as evidenced by his greying wings as he, utterly dejected by the news, begins to doubt God's work.

HOW A STAR IS BORN

In his exquisite synthesis, Crowley recounts in a few words one of the greatest mysteries of the universe: stars are born inside nebulae, where dense clouds of gas (mainly hydrogen and helium) and dust stir and concentrate.

Gradually, the density of this agglomerate increases and so does its temperature (it is not me who says this, but thermodynamics): the protostar thus formed simply continues to accumulate matter inside it, increasing its temperature disproportionately.

When this cluster reaches a million degrees, the first thermonuclear reactions begin, which are the real engine of a star. In these reactions, which can only take place at very high temperatures, the nuclei of atoms of light elements, such as hydrogen, fuse together to form nuclei of heavier elements, such as helium.

These reactions, known as nuclear fusions, release enormous energy that slows down the inexorable accumulation of matter, leading to a state of equilibrium. A star is born.

EUCLID MISSION

Unlike our two favourites, we humans have never had the faintest idea how the universe came to be, and have always tried to give ourselves answers.

From cosmogonies to early astronomical theories, from religious beliefs to actual space observations, our curiosity about what surrounds us is insatiable.

Various space missions have sent probes and telescopes into space to give us the best possible view of the celestial bodies orbiting the Earth.

In recent years, the European Space Agency has built and sent into orbit the Euclid space telescope. The ambitious aim of this mission is to study the causes of the expansion of the Universe; to this end, Euclid will study more than a third of the entire sky and, over a period of six years, will send back data and images of more than a billion galaxies at unimaginable distances: up to 10 million light years from us. This will provide the most complete 3D map of our Universe ever made.

Euclid was launched from Cape Canaveral on 1 July and sent back its first images on 7 November, which were not only beautiful but also more celestial objects than in any previous image.

While we wait for Euclid to give us some shots of the Pillars of Creation, let's enjoy its first images.

This video (source: ESA ) shows the Horsehead Nebula and you can see similarities with the Eagle Nebula seen in the famous opening scene of season two: the Horsehead Nebula also produces celestial bodies, and the bright lights clearly visible are young stars in formation.

In the next chapter, we will talk more about the factors that influence the expansion of the Universe, including dark matter and dark energy.

More infos at:

_ ESA - Euclid's first images: the dazzling edge of darkness _ ESA - Euclid overview

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Subscribe to my series: The Nice and Accurate Good Omens Analysis and The Science behind Good Omens

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[canadaloveselenasblog]

“Edie enters the Factory in her otherworldly daze. She is at once natural and a creation of pure artifice. Everything about her - her tights, her long legs, her high heels, her preternaturally skinny body, her huge eyes - seems to drift upwards as if the cigarette she is smoking were made of helium.” ― David Dalton,

[longlistshort]

It was Andy Warhol’s birthday this past Tuesday, August 6th, so today seemed like a good time to post some images taken at The Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh. Warhol was a prolific artist and the museum does an excellent job at presenting both his body of work, and the essence of what made him such a unique presence in the world.

Below are a few selections from what was on view in February of 2024.

Warhol made several film works including Screen Tests, his series of portraits in which the subjects attempted to remain still for around three minutes. The results were then played back in slow motion. Many well known names participated.

The museum has a room dedicated to their recreation of his delightful installation Silver Clouds.

From the museum about this work-

“I don’t paint anymore, I gave it up about a year ago and just do movies now. I could do two things at the same time but movies are more exciting. Painting was just a phase I went through. But I’m doing some floating sculpture now: silver rectangles that I blow up and that float.” —Andy Warhol, 1966

In April 1966 Warhol opened his light and music extravaganza the Exploding Plastic Inevitable (EPI), a complete sensorial experience of light, music, and film at the Dom, a large dance hall in the East Village in New York City. Running concurrently with the EPI was Warhol’s bold and unconventional exhibition at the prestigious Leo Castelli Gallery that comprised two artworks: the Silver Clouds and Cow Wallpaper.

Constructed from metalized plastic film and filled with helium, the floating clouds were produced in collaboration with Billy Klüver, an engineer known for his work with artists such as Robert Rauschenberg, Yvonne Rainer, and John Cage. Warhol originally asked Klüver to create floating light bulbs; an unusual shape that proved infeasible.

Klüver showed Warhol a sample of the silver material and his reaction to the plastic sparked a new direction, “Let’s make clouds.” They experimented with cumulus shapes, but the puffed rectangle was the most successful and most buoyant. The end result was w hat Warhol was looking for from the beginning— “paintings that could float.” Silver Clouds, like the EPI with its flashing lights and overlapping films, was an explosion of objects in space and presented an immersive, bodily experience for the viewer.

Warhol was always experimenting with new ideas and processes. Pictured above is Oxidation, 1978, and a closer look at the canvas. It is part of Altered States, an exhibition of this body of work and its creation.

Below the museum explains Warhol’s process, and how the paintings were altered both during past exhibitions, and again when the museum lost power and climate control.

Andy Warhol’s Oxidation paintings represent the artist’s radical approach to Abstract Expressionism, a movement popularized by painters like Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko after World War II, and a style Warhol didn’t experiment with until late in his career. Between 1977 and 1978, however, when Warhol began testing the corrosive effects of oxidation by mixing copper paint and urine, the beautifully iridescent canvases were a critical breakthrough at a time when his standing in the art world had taken a hit. The Oxidation series, along with abstract works like the Rorschachs and Shadows, allowed Warhol to reinvent himself yet again.

To create the Oxidation works, Warhol and his assistants mixed dry metallic powder in water before adding acrylic medium as the binder.

Canvases were spread out on the studio floor and coated in copper paint. Warhol’s assistants or Factory visitors were then invited to urinate on the canvases while the paint was still wet. As the urine acid oxidized the metal in the copper paint, a range of unpredictable patterns emerged.

Before Warhol’s death in 1987, the Oxidation paintings were exhibited only three times, including the Paris Art Fair FIAC at the Grand Palais, where the artist first noticed the volatility of the works. “When I showed them in Paris, the hot lights made them melt again,” he said.

“It’s very weird.. they never stopped dripping.” More than 45 years later, unpredictability remains a hallmark of the series. In June of 2020, after a power outage disabled the museum’s climate control for several days, staff conservators noticed changes similar to what Warhol observed in Paris. New drips appeared on the surface of Oxidation (1978), shown here, and the areas of corrosion changed color.

This presentation seeks to answer a deceptively simple question:

What happened? Museum conservators, with help from colleagues in the field and scientists, have been hard at work finding answers. The examination and analysis of the Oxidation paintings in the museum’s collection will contribute to proper stewardship, preservation, and treatment of the nearly 100 other works worldwide.

Several of the paintings on view are in his signature style, including portraits of famous (and less famous) people, and in one room, different skulls in various colors.

From the museum-

Warhol’s Skull paintings have often been considered memento mori, recalling the centuries-long tradition of art that reminds us of our mortality. Memento mori, from Latin, translates roughly to “remember that you are mortal” or “remember you will die.” Warhol’s own near-death experience happened in 1968, when troubled writer Valerie Solanas shot Warhol in the abdomen after claiming the artist had lost a script she had written. After reportedly being declared dead upon arrival at the hospital, Warhol’s life was saved during five hours of surgery. After nearly two months, he was released from the hospital but required further surgeries over the following years.

On one of the floors is The Archives Study Center. There, behind glass, are some of Warhol’s Time Capsules- boxes he filled with a wide variety of items, sealed and put into storage.

On the same floor is the Great Dane pictured above, Champion Ador Tipp  Topp (“Cecil”), who Warhol bought at an antique store after being told the dog had belonged to Cecil B. De Mille. The dog remained in Warhol’s office until his death.

A little more detail from the museum-

This mounted Great Dane, called Cecil by Warhol and his associates, was once a champion show dog. Born in Germany in 1921, original name was Ador Tipp Topp. Owned by Charles Ludwig, a top breeder, Cecil was sold to Gerdus H. Wynkoop of Long Island who entered the dog in several shows earning him the title of Champion by 1924, and Best of Breed at the Westminster Kennel Club.

After his death in 1930, Cecil’s remains were sent to Yale University in Connecticut, where they were mounted and displayed with 11 other breeds in what was known colloquially as “the dog hall of fame” at the Peabody Museum. However, by 1945, the canine display was removed to storage and forgotten.

In 1964 Scott Elliot, a Yale drama student, went to the Museum to find birds for a new play. He found the birds and also bought all 12 dog mounts for $10 each. When Elliot had to move a few months later, many of the mounts were left with a friend who put them in rented storage, which went unpaid and the contents were dispersed.

Warhol came across the display in an antique shop on 3rd Avenue several years later. He was told that the dog had belonged to film director Cecil B. DeMille. Warhol bought the story and the Great Dane for $300. Cecil found his final home at Andy’s office, where he was kept until Andy’s death in 1986.

Cecil’s current appearance differs from his championship form. His coat was originally black and white but exposure to sunlight has faded it to brown. Over the years, it sustained damage to the ears; they were repaired in April 1994 in anticipation of the opening of the Warhol Museum, to reflect the style of current breeds.

This is just a brief selection of what was on view. The museum collection also includes his early commercial paintings, some of his collaborations, television work, and more.

One of the great things about Andy Warhol is that no matter how much you know, there are always new things to learn. Even more than thirty years after his death, he remains as relevant as ever.

[foxgirlinfohazard]

you know, kinda wish I could be a living fusion reactor robofox sometimes, what do you think that'd be like actually?

ooooooh fusion reactor robofox.... thats a super cool one! no idea truth be told, we dont know enough about fusion reactors! though looking into it youd be a walking helium factory :3

[vixendoe-archive]

i used to work at a headlight factory and i think a reason most cars are trying to switch to LED is because we're running out of natural gases for traditional headlights. like xenon prices have supposedly gone up 800% and it's just becoming more and more expensive to get these things (let alone the helium shortage)

[los-angeles-toon-patrol]

I'll never forget the time that I had an accident at a balloon factory & became a last minute float for the Toontown Thanksgiving Parade. Luckily helium is non explosive, what with all my lit cigs.

Side note - I don't know why some of you are into inflation. Not. fun.. not fun at all. -Wheezy