Circular Motions Quotes

People travel to wonder at the height of the mountains, at the huge waves of the seas, at the long course of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars, and yet they pass by themselves without wondering.

It is tempting to write the history of technology through products: the wheel; the microscope; the airplane; the Internet. But it is more illuminating to write the history of technology through transitions: linear motion to circular motion; visual space to subvisual space; motion on land to motion on air; physical connectivity to virtual connectivity.

Self-knowledge reveals to the soul that its natural motion is not, if uninterrupted, in a straight line, but circular, as around some inner object, about a center, the point to which it owes its origin.

I made a circular motion with my finger around my temple to indicate I thought this guy was crazy, forgetting that there was no one in the room to see this circular motion except him. He saw it and frowned.

Then she understood that what she needed was the motion to a purpose, no matter how small or in what form, the sense of an activity going step by step to some chosen end across a span of time. The work of cooking a meal was like a closed circle, completed and gone, leading nowhere. But the work of building a path was a living sum, so that no day was left to die behind her, but each day contained all those that preceded it, each day acquired its immortality on every succeeding tomorrow. A circle, she thought, is the movement proper to physical nature, they say that there's nothing but circular motion in the inanimate universe around us, but the straight line is the badge of man, the straight line of a geometrical abstraction that makes roads, rails and bridges, the straight line that cuts the curving aimlessness of nature by a purposeful motion from a start to an end. The cooking of meals, she thought, is like the feeding of coal to an engine for the sake of a great run, but what would be the imbecile torture of coaling an engine that had no run to make? It is not proper for man's life to be a circle, she thought, or a string of circles dropping off like zeros behind him--man's life must be a straight line of motion from goal to farther goal, each leading to the next and to a single growing sum, like a journey down the track of a railroad, from station to station to--oh, stop it!

There are quiet places also in the mind,” he said, meditatively. “But we build bandstand and factories on them. Deliberately—to put a stop to the quietness. We don’t like the quietness. All the thoughts, all the preoccupation in my head—round and round continually.” He made a circular motion with his hands. “And the jazz bands, the music hall songs, the boys shouting the news. What’s it all for? To put an end to the quiet, to break it up and disperse it, to pretend at any cost it isn’t there. Ah, but it is, it is there, in spite of everything, at the back of everything. Lying awake at night, sometimes—not restlessly, but serenely, waiting for sleep—the quiet re-establishes itself, piece by piece; all the broken bits, all the fragments of it we’ve been so busily dispersing all day long. It re-establishes itself, an inward quiet, like this outward quiet of grass and trees. It fills one, it grows –a crystal quiet, a growing expanding crystal. It grows, it becomes more perfect; it is beautiful and terrifying, yes, terrifying, as well as beautiful. For one’s alone in the crystal and there’s no support from outside, there’s nothing external and important, nothing external and trivial to pull oneself up by or to stand up, superiorly, contemptuously, so that one can look down. There’s nothing to laugh at or feel enthusiastic about. But the quiet grows and grows. Beautifully and unbearably. And at last you are conscious of something approaching; it is almost a faint sound of footsteps. Something inexpressibly lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And oh, inexpressibly terrifying. For if it were to touch you, if it were to seize and engulf you, you’d die; all the regular habitual, daily part of you would die. There would be and end of bandstands and whizzing factories, and one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously n some strange unheard-of manner. Nearer, nearer come the steps; but one can’t face the advancing thing. One daren’t. It’s too terrifying; it’s too painful to die. Quickly, before it is too late, start the factory wheels, bang the drum, blow up the saxophone. Think of the women you’d like to sleep with, the schemes for making money, the gossip about your friends, the last outrage of the politicians. Anything for a diversion. Break the silence, smash the crystal to pieces. There, it lies in bits; it is easily broken, hard to build up and easy to break. And the steps? Ah, those have taken themselves off, double quick. Double quick, they were gone at the flawing of the crystal. And by this time the lovely and terrifying thing is three infinities away, at least. And you lie tranquilly on your bed, thinking of what you’d do if you had ten thousand pounds and of all the fornications you’ll never commit.

Umm,” he moaned, as he started his rhythmic movements underneath me; raising me up and down with his hands at the speed and tempo he wanted. I leaned forward a bit so that my breasts were brushing against his chest; my hands gripped his shoulders as the heat of our lovemaking increased. He raised me up and down; up and down; my hips gyrated in a circular motion making sure the head of his beautiful cock was hitting my magic spot over and over again. My whimpers of pleasure were getting louder; his breathing was coming faster…

And now try to follow me, because I'm gonna be moving in a kind of circular motion, so if you pay attention, there will be a point!

Anaxagoras is said to have predicted that if the heavenly bodies should be loosened by some slip or shake, one of them might be torn away, and might plunge and fall down to earth; and he said that none of the stars was in its original position; for being of stone, and heavy, their shining light is caused by friction with the revolving aether, and they are forced along in fixed orbits by the whirling impulse which gave them their circular motion, and this was what prevented them from falling to our earth in the first place, when cold and heavy bodies were separated from universal matter.

Sorry. It’s a technique I use to fend off the panic — screaming at the top of my lungs.” “That’s the best technique you have?” “I have a few different techniques. I can also massage my balls." “Excuse me?” “I have balls. Massaging them really helps.” “Your… balls? You looked like a woman to me, pretty damn shapely from the back, at least.” “They’re Boading balls. Metal meditation balls. I massage them against each other in a circular motion in my palm. It helps calm me down.” I began to frantically search through my purse. “What’s all that rustling?” he asked. “I’m trying to find them. They’re somewhere in my bag.” Without light, I wasn’t able to easily locate them. “Shit, where are they?” He chuckled. “I have some balls you could massage if you’re in a pickle.

Technology, I said before, is most powerful when it enables transitions—between linear and circular motion (the wheel), or between real and virtual space (the Internet). Science, in contrast, is most powerful when it elucidates rules of organization—laws—that act as lenses through which to view and organize the world. Technologists

Men go abroad to admire the heights of mountains, the mighty waves of the sea, the broad tide of rivers, the vast compass of the ocean, the circular motion of the stars, and yet they pass over the mystery of themselves without a thought.” We are spiritual beings. But for many of us, malnutrition of the soul is a plague of modern life.

Technology, I said before, is most powerful when it enables transitions—between linear and circular motion (the wheel), or between real and virtual space (the Internet). Science,

But it is more illuminating to write the history of technology through transitions: linear motion to circular motion; visual space to subvisual space; motion on land to motion in air; physical connectivity to virtual connectivity.

People travel to wonder at the height of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars; and they pass themselves by without wondering. —Saint Augustine

I used the word “genitals” too much in this chapter so I went on Twitter to ask what a gender-neutral word for junk was and I got three hundred responses in ten minutes without a single person’s questioning why I was asking. A few of my favorites that I didn’t get to share earlier: “niblets,” “nethers,” “naughty bits,” “no-no zone,” “squish mittens,” “Area 51,” “the danger zone,” “the south 40,” “the situation” (with a suggested circular hand motion near said area), “the Department of the Interior,” “crotchal region,” “fandanglies,” “groinulars,” “groinacopia,” “my hoopty,” “my bidness,” “my chamber of secrets,” “my charcuterie,” “front butt,” “privy parts,” “private parts,” “pirate parts” (which I suspect was a typo but now I’m embracing it), and my personal favorite, “the good china.” This is exactly why I love the Internet. That and the fact that it’s where those fancy dictionary robots that yell “cockchafer” at each other live. The Internet is a goddamn wonderland, y’all.

People travel to wonder at the height of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars; and they pass themselves by without wondering.” —St. Augustine, 399 A.D.

But what can you do with success when you get it? You cant eat it or drink it. Of course I understand that people who havent enough money to feed their faces and all that should scurry round and get it. But success . . .” “The trouble with me is I cant decide what I want most, so my motion is circular, helpless and confoundedly discouraging.” “Oh but God decided that for you. You know all the time, but you wont admit it to yourself.” “I imagine what I want most is to get out of this town, preferably first setting off a bomb under the Times Building.

Pain comes to us from deep back, from where it grew in the human body. Pain sucks more pain into it, we don't know why. It lives, and we harbor its weight. When the worst comes, we will not act the opposite. We will do what we were taught, we who learnt our lessons in the dead light. We pass them on. We hurt, and hurt others, in a circular motion.

Technology, I said before, is most powerful when it enables transitions—between linear and circular motion (the wheel), or between real and virtual space (the Internet). Science, in contrast, is most powerful when it elucidates rules of organization—laws—that act as lenses through which to view and organize the world. Technologists seek to liberate us from the constraints of our current realities through those transitions. Science defines those constraints, drawing the outer limits of the boundaries of possibility. Our greatest technological innovations thus carry names that claim our prowess over the world: the engine (from ingenium, or “ingenuity”) or the computer (from computare, or “reckoning together”). Our deepest scientific laws, in contrast, are often named after the limits of human knowledge: uncertainty, relativity, incompleteness, impossibility. Of all the sciences, biology is the most lawless; there are few rules to begin with, and even fewer rules that are universal. Living beings must, of course, obey the fundamental rules of physics and chemistry, but life often exists on the margins and interstices of these laws, bending them to their near-breaking limit. The universe seeks equilibriums; it prefers to disperse energy, disrupt organization, and maximize chaos. Life is designed to combat these forces. We slow down reactions, concentrate matter, and organize chemicals into compartments; we sort laundry on Wednesdays. “It sometimes seems as if curbing entropy is our quixotic purpose in the universe,” James Gleick wrote. We live in the loopholes of natural laws, seeking extensions, exceptions, and excuses.

The analysis of movement leads him to recognize that in every instant of movement there is a conatus toward an ulterior becoming, a something-in-motion making a circular trajectory that has a kind of memory

My friends' hugs are longer and tighter; consist of extra squeezes and pats, which alternate between a circular rubbing motion and a light pitter-pattering on the back, both of which I find surprisingly comforting.

It’s actually unfair that time has only one dimension, while space has three. Why shouldn’t time be able to romp and frolic just as freely as space? If time had several dimensions, it would be able to move forward and backward simultaneously—a circular motion in which time constantly returns to the start. Then it might be possible to give yourself some good advice in critical moments the next time you passed by. But on the other hand, the world would become a lonelier place. It would be more difficult to meet each other at a given time, because several coordinates would all have to match up. It’s probably best that time continues to be one-dimensional, like a straight number line.

Most people-all, in fact, who regard the whole heaven as finite-say it lies at the centre. But the Italian philosophers known as Pythagoreans take the contrary view. At the centre, they say, is fire, and the earth is one of the stars, creating night and day by its circular motion about the centre. They further construct another earth in opposition to ours to which they give the name counterearth. In all this they are not seeking for theories and causes to account for observed facts, but rather forcing their observations and trying to accommodate them to certain theories and opinions of their own. But there are many others who would agree that it is wrong to give the earth the central position, looking for confirmation rather to theory than to the facts of observation. Their view is that the most precious place befits the most precious thing: but fire, they say, is more precious than earth, and the limit than the intermediate, and the circumference and the centre are limits. Reasoning on this basis they take the view that it is not earth that lies at the centre of the sphere, but rather fire. The Pythagoreans have a further reason. They hold that the most important part of the world, which is the centre, should be most strictly guarded, and name it, or rather the fire which occupies that place, the 'Guardhouse of Zeus', as if the word 'centre' were quite unequivocal, and the centre of the mathematical figure were always the same with that of the thing or the natural centre. But it is better to conceive of the case of the whole heaven as analogous to that of animals, in which the centre of the animal and that of the body are different. For this reason they have no need to be so disturbed about the world, or to call in a guard for its centre: rather let them look for the centre in the other sense and tell us what it is like and where nature has set it. That centre will be something primary and precious; but to the mere position we should give the last place rather than the first. For the middle is what is defined, and what defines it is the limit, and that which contains or limits is more precious than that which is limited, see ing that the latter is the matter and the former the essence of the system. (2-13-1) There are similar disputes about the shape of the earth. Some think it is spherical, others that it is flat and drum-shaped. For evidence they bring the fact that, as the sun rises and sets, the part concealed by the earth shows a straight and not a curved edge, whereas if the earth were spherical the line of section would have to be circular. In this they leave out of account the great distance of the sun from the earth and the great size of the circumference, which, seen from a distance on these apparently small circles appears straight. Such an appearance ought not to make them doubt the circular shape of the earth. But they have another argument. They say that because it is at rest, the earth must necessarily have this shape. For there are many different ways in which the movement or rest of the earth has been conceived. (2-13-3)

For Aristotle, physics works as follows: first, it is necessary to distinguish between the heavens and Earth. In the heavens, everything is made up of a crystalline substance that moves in a circular motion and turns eternally around Earth in great concentric circles, with the spherical Earth at the center of everything. On Earth, on the other hand, it is necessary to distinguish between forced motion and natural motion. Forced motion is caused by a thrust and ends when the thrust ends. Natural motion is vertical—upward or downward—and depends both on the substance and the location. Each substance has a “natural place,” that is to say, a proper altitude to which it always returns; earth at the bottom, water a little way above it, air a little higher still, and fire even higher. When you pick up a stone and let it fall, the stone moves downward because it wants to return to its natural level. Air bubbles in water, fire in the air, or children’s flying balloons move upward instead, again seeking their natural place.

I am Ding Yi.” He opened up two folding chairs and motioned for us to sit down, then returned to his chair. He said, “Before you tell me why you’ve come, let me discuss with you a dream I’ve just had.… No, you’ve got to listen. It was a wonderful dream, which you interrupted. In the dream I was sitting here, a knife in my hand, around so long, like for cutting watermelon. Next to me was this tea table. But there wasn’t an ashtray or anything on it. Just two round objects, yea big. Circular, spherical. What do you think they were?” “Watermelon?” “No, no. One was a proton, the other a neutron. A watermelon-sized proton and neutron. I cut the proton open first. Its charge flowed out onto the table, all sticky, with a fresh fragrance. After I cut the proton in half, the quarks inside tumbled out, tinkling. They were about the size of walnuts, in all sorts of colors. They rolled about on the table, and some of them fell onto the floor. I picked up a white one. It was very hard, but with effort, I was able to bite into it. It tasted like a manaizi grape.… And right then, you woke me up.

Arthur tried to gauge the speed at which they were traveling, but the blackness outside was absolute and he was denied any reference points. The sense of motion was so soft and slight he could almost believe they were hardly moving at all. Then a tiny glow of light appeared in the far distance and within seconds had grown so much in size that Arthur realized it was traveling toward them at a colossal speed, and he tried to make out what sort of craft it might be. He peered at it, but was unable to discern any clear shape, and suddenly gasped in alarm as the aircar dipped sharply and headed downward in what seemed certain to be a collision course. Their relative velocity seemed unbelievable, and Arthur had hardly time to draw breath before it was all over. The next thing he was aware of was an insane silver blur that seemed to surround him. He twisted his head sharply round and saw a small black point dwindling rapidly in the distance behind them, and it took him several seconds to realize what had happened. They had plunged into a tunnel in the ground. The colossal speed had been their own, relative to the glow of light which was a stationary hole in the ground, the mouth of the tunnel. The insane blur of silver was the circular wall of the tunnel down which they were shooting, apparently at several hundred miles an hour. He closed his eyes in terror. After a length of time which he made no attempt to judge, he sensed a slight subsidence in their speed and some while later became aware that they were gradually gliding to a gentle halt. He opened his eyes again. They were still in the silver tunnel, threading and weaving their way through what appeared to be a crisscross warren of converging tunnels. When they finally stopped it was in a small chamber of curved steel. Several tunnels also had their termini here, and at the farther end of the chamber Arthur could see a large circle of dim irritating light. It was irritating because it played tricks with the eyes, it was impossible to focus on it properly or tell how near or far it was. Arthur guessed (quite wrongly) that it might be ultraviolet. Slartibartfast turned and regarded Arthur with his solemn old eyes. “Earthman,” he said, “we are now deep in the heart of Magrathea.

Born in 1821, Croll grew up poor, and his formal education lasted only to the age of thirteen. He worked at a variety of jobs—as a carpenter, insurance salesman, keeper of a temperance hotel—before taking a position as a janitor at Anderson’s (now the University of Strathclyde) in Glasgow. By somehow inducing his brother to do much of his work, he was able to pass many quiet evenings in the university library teaching himself physics, mechanics, astronomy, hydrostatics, and the other fashionable sciences of the day, and gradually began to produce a string of papers, with a particular emphasis on the motions of Earth and their effect on climate. Croll was the first to suggest that cyclical changes in the shape of Earth’s orbit, from elliptical (which is to say slightly oval) to nearly circular to elliptical again, might explain the onset and retreat of ice ages. No one had ever thought before to consider an astronomical explanation for variations in Earth’s weather. Thanks almost entirely to Croll’s persuasive theory, people in Britain began to become more responsive to the notion that at some former time parts of the Earth had been in the grip of ice. When his ingenuity and aptitude were recognized, Croll was given a job at the Geological Survey of Scotland and widely honored: he was made a fellow of the Royal Society in London and of the New York Academy of Science and given an honorary degree from the University of St. Andrews, among much else. Unfortunately,

Kircher’s system shows certain affinities with our series of quaternios. Thus the Second Monad is a duality consisting of opposites, corresponding to the angelic world that was split by Lucifer’s fall. Another significant analogy is that Kircher conceives his schema as a cycle set in motion by God as the prime cause, and unfolding out of itself, but brought back to God again through the activity of human understanding, so that the end returns once more to the beginning. This, too, is an analogy of our formula. The alchemists were fond of picturing their opus as a circulatory process, as a circular distillation or as the uroboros, the snake biting its own tail, and they made innumerable pictures of this process. Just as the central idea of the lapis Philosophorum plainly signifies the self, so the opus with its countless symbols illustrates the process of individuation, the step-by-step development of the self from an unconscious state to a conscious one. That is why the lapis, as prima materia, stands at the beginning of the process as well as at the end.113 According to Michael Maier, the gold, another synonym for the self, comes from the opus circulatorium of the sun. This circle is “the line that runs back upon itself (like the serpent that with its head bites its own tail), wherein that eternal painter and potter, God, may be discerned.”114 In this circle, Nature “has related the four qualities to one another and drawn, as it were, an equilateral square, since contraries are bound together by contraries, and enemies by enemies, with the same everlasting bonds.” Maier compares this squaring of the circle to the “homo quadratus,” the four-square man, who “remains himself” come weal come woe.115 He calls it the “golden house, the twicebisected circle, the four-cornered phalanx, the rampart, the city wall, the four-sided line of battle.”116 This circle is a magic circle consisting of the union of opposites, “immune to all injury.

Do you believe that?” Melinda says, directing her wonderment at Irv. “That if someone commits suicide they go to hell?” “No.” “But many Christians do, right?” “There’s a debate, but it’s doctrine.” “But you don’t think so?” “No.” “Why not?” “For the same reason the Catholics believe in the Trinity, Melinda.” The appetizers arrive with a speed that Sigrid finds suspicious. “Which is . . . what?” “It’s how I understand Jesus’s words spoken from the cross,” says Irv, taking a calamari. “Jesus spoke seven times on the cross. In Matthew Twenty-Seven, verse forty-six and in Mark Fifteen verse thirty-four he says, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ This led to the Trinity,” Irv said, sucking cocktail sauce and grease from his thumb. “The thinking is, if Jesus was Lord, who was he speaking to? He was obviously speaking to someone or something other than himself, unless . . . ya know.” Irv makes a circular cuckoo motion by his head with a piece of squid. “So perhaps he was speaking to the Father, or to the Holy Spirit. In this act, he distinguishes himself from the eternal and embodies everything that is Man. The fear, the sadness, the tragedy. The longing. The recognition of betrayal. We see him, in that moment, only as the Son, and because of that, as ourselves. As I read it, Melinda, we are not invited in that moment to be cruel to him for his despair, or to mock him. Instead we are asked to feel his pain. When Jesus says, ‘It is finished’ I don’t read, ‘Mission accomplished.’ I see a person resigned. A person who has lost hope. A person who has taken a step away from this life. And our pity for him grows. And finally he says, ‘Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.’ Now, I’m not going to equate Jesus letting go with suicide, but any decent and forgiving Christian person would have to admit that we are looking at a person who cannot fight anymore. We are being taught to be understanding of that state of mind and sympathetic to the suffering that might lead a person to it. It does not follow to me that if someone succumbs to that grief we are to treat them with eternal contempt. I just don’t believe it.

I don’t want you to die,” she whispered. “I don’t.” Without warning he seized her wrist with his left hand. She gasped as he opened his eyes and stared into hers. “I am glad you no longer want me dead,” he murmured hoarsely. “If you did, I would be easy to kill.” She tried to pull free. “Let me go,” she insisted. “Will you wipe my head again, if I do? I’m hot.” “You’re feverish.” He was looking at her in such a strange way—for an instant, she had the oddest notion that he might kiss her. “And you care for me?” “If you die there will be no one to take me back to the white settlements,” she said. Her words were harsh, but her tone revealed the joy that bubbled up inside her and made her giddy. He smiled and glanced around the longhouse. “Siipu found us?” He caressed her hand with his thumb, making slow, gentle circular motions against her skin. Sweet sensations rippled up her arm and made her pulse quicken. “Siipu? No,” she protested. “It was your brother, Losowahkun, who saved us. He—” “No.” He frowned. “Do not use that name. Siipu. Not my brother, Becca.” “Losowahkun,” she repeated in bewilderment. “He said he was your brother—he wears a deerskin mask.” She was no longer trying to free her hand. She wanted to leave it in his grasp. She fought an impossible urge to throw her arms around his neck and hug him against her. “There can’t be two such—” “Another like her,” he finished. “You are right. But I have no brother. Her name is not Losowahkun—the Burned One. She is Siipu, Creek Water, and she is my beloved sister.

Three dominant hypotheses explain what drives plate tectonic motion. Each one relies on the convention of the mantle — the movement of heated rock materials beneath earth’s crust — but each one focuses on a different piece of the cycle: Mantle convection hypothesis: This hypothesis proposes that heated materials inside the earth move up and down in a circular motion (like the wax in a lava lamp) and the continental plates resting on this mat-erial are moved in the direction of the circular motion. Ridge-push hypothesis: This hypothesis states that the creation of new rock materials along mid-ocean ridges continually pushes oceanic crustal plates upward and outward, so that the far edges are forced into collisions with other plates. Slab-pull hypothesis: This hypothesis is the opposite of the ridge-push model. It proposes that the heavy, dense outer edges of crustal plates sink into the mantle at plate boundaries and pull the rest of the plate along with them.

He gathered his strength, pushed pain to the back of his mind and shifted his weight, easing off the monstrous hard-on she couldn’t fail to notice. It took her a moment to look up from kneading his calves. Her hands stopped abruptly and he heard her shocked inhale. He rolled over, needing to see her face— her eyes. She shoved back away from him, her eyes widening, the long lashes veiling her expression. As she went to pull away, she held up her hands, palms out, defensively, as if warding him off. Long-buried, maybe even unknown instincts took over. His hand whipped up, pushing air toward her left palm. Sparks danced between them, silver and gold, like tiny fireflies. She cried out and cradled her hand to her, that little frown drawing his attention to her soft mouth. “Let me see.” “What did you do?” “I don’t know. Let me see.” Her gaze dropped to his heavy erection and her eyes grew stormy. “Just put that away.” There it was again— that urge to smile. “It’s not a weapon. And you put it there. You take it away.” “Well, we found out one thing out about you, didn’t we?” She snatched the blanket and flung it over him, tenting his monstrosity of a hard-on. “You haven’t had sex in a long time.” She was close so he caught her wrist and turned her injured palm over, drawing her hand closer for his inspection. Two faint marks, circles intertwined one through the other. He pressed the pad of his thumb over the marks and rubbed in a circular motion. “If you think I brought you home so you could have sex, you picked the wrong person. I don’t do that sort of thing with just anyone.” His fingers tightened around her hand. “I’m glad to hear that.

He bows to the two of us, and when he speaks, his voice fills the room, far louder and more booming than a voice should be before noon. “I intend to ride the estate today, if you two would like to join me.” I open my mouth to give him a quick, No thanks, I’d rather pull out my own hair, but Emily beats me to it. “How kind of you to offer! We would love to.” Huh? I can’t figure out why Emily doesn’t hate Alex. He’s a jerk and he’s done nothing to help her out of her engagement. And now she’s volunteering to hang out with him? An excuse…I need some kind of excuse to get out of this. Alex walks to the window and looks out, offering a rather flattering view of the back of his riding pants. “Did you enjoy the dance last evening?” Is he making small talk? That’s a first. “Yes, very much so,” Emily says. “It was delightful.” I nod. “Yeah. I guess so.” I won’t say I had fun because I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. I don’t want him to know dancing with him was the most exciting part of my evening and the most agonizingly long half hour of my life. Alex looks at me for a long silent moment. You’d think he’d bring up the big “lady” versus “miss” debacle. Or just that we’d danced. But he doesn’t. “Yes, I rather enjoyed myself as well,” he says. Seriously, what does that mean? I was the only girl he danced with. The entire night. Is he trying to tell me something? Ha. Right. He probably means that it was all sorts of fun to insult me. And that’s when Emily starts rubbing her temple. She sets her needlepoint down and frowns, massaging in circular motions on the side of her face. Oh, no, she’s not-- “Dear cousin, I am coming down with a headache. Perhaps you and Rebecca ought to ride without me.” I get a twinge when I hear Rebecca. Every day it feels more like we’re friends--and more like I’m betraying her. And then she turns to me, knowing Alex can’t see her, and winks. “Oh, no, I--” I start to say, because I suddenly realize what she’s trying to do. This can not happen. A horseback ride alone with Alex? No thank you! But Alex cuts in before I can stop her. “Yes, I would not have you overexerting yourself. We shall check on you when we return.” Okay, this is not how I want to spend my afternoon. Alone with Alex? I’d rather get a root canal. But…maybe it’s my chance to talk to him about Emily. Maybe he doesn’t know about Trent. Emily said Trent was wealthy, right? He’s not titled, but he has money. If Alex knew about him…maybe he would get Emily off the hook with Denworth. Maybe that’s why Emily is trying to arrange for me to spend time with Alex. She so owes me after this. I can do this. I can hang out with him for a couple hours--long enough to talk him into helping us. Emily jumps up from her chair far too quickly for someone with a headache and leaves the room before I can do anything. I rub my eyes. It’s going to be a long afternoon.

Stop it!” she hissed. He dropped the orange section into his mouth, licked his lips with a slow, languorous, circular motion, and slowly peeled off another. The heat rose in Maeve’s blood. “Would you like . . . a taste, madam?” She raised her cutlass. “I’ll give you a taste—” “No decisive battle was ever fought from afar,” he interrupted on a low murmur, still grinning. “Nay, two vessels must lie alongside of each other in order to best bring their guns to bear.” He bit into the orange, making lewd, evocative noises as the juice trailed from the succulent flesh and dribbled down his chin. There was a dimple in that chin, and Maeve felt her heart skipping, staggering, faltering. “We have a signal for such an engagement in the navy. ’Tis called close action.”  “You are no longer in the navy, and I am not a ship!” “Nay, you are not . . .” His voice grew low, dangerously seductive. “But I like the cut of your jib, the taut trim of your sails”—the dark gaze slid over her breasts, the gentle flare of her hips—“the shape of your hull.

There are quiet places also in the mind,' he said, meditatively. 'But we build bandstands and factories on them. Deliberately - to put a stop to the quietness. We don't like the quietness. All the thoughts, all the preoccupations in my head - round and round, continually.' He made a circular motion with his hand. 'And the jazz bands, the music hall songs, the boys shouting the news. What's it for, what's it all for? To put an end to the quiet, to break it up and disperse it, to pretend at any cost is isn't there. Ah, but is is, it is there, in spite of everything, at the back of everything. Lying awake at night, sometimes - not restlessly, but serenely, waiting for sleep - the quiet reestablishes itself, piece by piece; all the broken bits, all the fragments of it we've been so busily dispersing all day long. It re-establishes itself, an inward quiet, like this outward quiet of grass and trees. It fills one, it grows - a crystal quiet, a growing expanding crystal. It grows, it becomes more perfect; it is beautiful and terrifying, yes, terrifying, as well as beautiful. For one's alone in the crystal and there 's no support from outside, there's nothing external and important, nothing external and trivial to pull oneself up by or stand on, superiorly, contemptuously, so that one can look down. There's nothing to laugh at or feel enthusiastic about. But the quiet grows and grows. Beautifully and unbearably. And at last you are conscious of something approaching; it is almost a faint sound of footsteps. Something inexpressibly lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And, oh, inexpressibly terrifying. For if it were to touch you, if it were to seize and engulf you, you'd die; all the regular, habitual, daily part of you would die. There would be an end of bandstands and whizzing factories, and one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously in some strange unheard-of manner. Nearer, nearer come the steps; but one can't face the advancing thing. One daren't. It's too terrifying, it's too painful to die. Quickly, before it is too late, start the factory wheels, bang the drum, blow the saxophone. Think of the women you'dl like to sleep with, the schemes for making money, the gossip about your friends, the last outrage of the politicians. Anything for a diversion. Break the silence, smash the crystal to pieces. There, it lies in bits; it is easily broken, hard to build up and easy to break. And the steps? Ah, those have taken themselves off, double quick. Double quick, they were gone at the first flawing of the crystal. And by this time the lovely and terrifying thing is three infinities away, at least. And you lie tranquilly on your bed, thinking of what you'd do if you had ten thousand pounds and of all the fornications you'll never commit.' He thought of Rosie's pink underwear.

In the universe, the earth is moving in a circular motion. In an atom, the particles moving in orbit are undergoing circular motion. The circular motion has a tuning with the universal rhythm.....If the concepts taught in each subject are developed by following a circular motion, then the education can lead to the enrichment of the 'Self.

For almost a thousand years an unmarried woman was known as a spinster because a woman without a husband spent her days at the wheel. Women understand spinning. Even noblewomen, who want for nothing material, would spin. To the uninitiated, it might appear that we are simply producing yarn, but much more happens when we spin. Magic is awakened by the energy of creativity moving in circular motion, and it comes to see what’s happening. Sometimes it affixes itself as the yarn is wound onto the spindle.” Naturally, my

And we're cheerful, too. You can count on that.' Obligingly she smiled in a neighbourly way at him. 'It will be a relief to leave Earth with its repressive legislation. We were listening OH the FM to the news about the McPhearson Act.' 'We consider it dreadful,' the adult male said. 'I have to agree with you,' Chic said. 'But what can one do?' He looked around for the mail; as always it was lost somewhere in the mass of clutter. 'One can emigrate,' the adult male simulacrum pointed out. 'Um,' Chic said absently. He had found an unexpected heap of recent-looking bills from parts suppliers; with a feeling of gloom and even terror he began to bills from parts suppliers; with a feeling of gloom and even terror he began to sort through them. Had Maury seen these? Probably. Seen them and then pushed them away immediately, out of sight. Frauenzimmer Associates functioned better if it was not reminded of such facts of life. Like a regressed neurotic, it had to hide several aspects of reality from its percept system in order to function at all. This was hardly ideal, but what really was the alternative? To be realistic would be to give up, to die. Illusion, of an infantile nature was essential for the tiny firm's survival, or at least so it seemed to him and Maury. In any case both of them had adopted this attitude. Their simulacra -- the adult ones -- disapproved of this; their cold, logical appraisal of reality stood in sharp contrast, and Chic always felt a little naked, a little embarrassed, before the simulacra; he knew he should set a better example for them. 'If you bought a jalopy and emigrated to Mars,' the adult male said, 'We could be the famnexdo for you.' 'I wouldn't need any family next-door,' Chic said, 'if I emigrated to Mars. I'd go to get away from people. 'We'd make a very good family next-door to you,' the female said. 'Look,' Chic said, 'you don't have to lecture me about your virtues. I know more than you do yourselves.' And for good reason. Their presumption, their earnest sincerity, amused but also irked him. As next-door neighbours this group of sims would be something of a nuisance, he reflected. Still, that was what emigrants wanted, in fact needed, out in the sparsely-populated colonial regions. He could appreciate that; after all, it was Frauenzimmer Associates' business to understand. A man, when he emigrated, could buy neighbours, buy the simulated presence of life, the sound and motion of human activity -- or at least its ​mechanical nearsubstitute to bolster his morale in the new environment of unfamiliar stimuli and perhaps, god forbid, no stimuli at all. And in addition to this primary psychological gain there was a practical secondary advantage as well. The famnexdo group of simulacra developed the parcel of land, tilled it and planted it, irrigated it, made it fertile, highly productive. And the yield went to the it, irrigated it, made it fertile, highly productive. And the yield went to the human settler because the famnexdo group, legally speaking, occupied the peripheral portions of his land. The famnexdo were actually not next-door at all; they were part of their owner's entourage. Communication with them was in essence a circular dialogue with oneself; the famnexdo, it they were functioning properly, picked up the covert hopes and dreams of the settler and detailed them back in an articulated fashion. Therapeutically, this was helpful, although from a cultural standpoint it was a trifle sterile.

The reason ordinary matter lies in a disk and not a small ball is the matter’s net rotation, which it inherited from the gas clouds that acquired angular momentum (momentum of rotation) in their formation. Cooling lowers resistance to collapse in one direction, but collapse in the two others is prevented or at least lessened by the centrifugal force of the rotation of the gas it contains. Without friction or some other force acting on it, a marble that you set in motion around a circular track will keep rolling forever. Similarly, once matter is rotating, it will keep its angular momentum until some torque acts on it or it can dissipate angular momentum along with energy. Because angular momentum is conserved, gaseous regions cannot collapse as efficiently in the radial direction (as defined by rotation) as in the vertical one. Though matter might collapse in the direction parallel to the axis of rotation, it won’t collapse in the radial direction unless angular momentum is somehow removed. This differential collapse is what gives rise to the relatively flat disk of the Milky Way, which we observe stretching across the sky. It is also what gives rise to the disks of most spiral galaxies.

Nearly all fighters use the bob-weave to some degree as they shuffle toward their opponents. Most of them use it mildly. However, the genuine bobber-weaver uses it fully. He uses a deep bob and a wide sway (Figure 75A, B, C, D, E). He uses it to slide under his opponent's attack. He uses it to get to close quarters; the real bobber-weaver always is a hooking specialist. If he slips in under a straight punch, he hits on the slip and continues with a terrific barrage to body and head. If he bobs in, he begins his barrage with a delayed counter to the body. Experienced bob-weavers often use the "apple bob" with great effectiveness. It is done like this: As a left jab starts toward you, you make a quick, low, combined slip-bob to the outside; and, in the same motion come up on the outside (Figure 76A, B, C). The entire movement-slip, bob, rise-is circular. Your head appears to go down inside your opponent's arm and to bob up like an apple or a cork outside the arm. In the apple bob you do not counter on the slip. Instead, you counter as you rise. You counter with a left shovel to the chin. The shovel is delivered while your opponent's left arm is over your left shoulder. And, the instant your shovel lands on his chin, you follow with an overhanded "right sneaker" hook to the jaw. A reverse combination of counters can be used when you apple-bob outside an opponent's straight right. Because of my varied fighting experience before I reached Toledo, I was -or should have been-a well-rounded fighter when I faced Willard. Nevertheless, I specialized in the bob-weave attack. It was only natural that I should, for it is the perfect attack for one to use against taller opponents. I was comparatively small for a heavyweight, and I found the bob-weave very effective against larger men.

Elliptical orbits. Langdon recalled that much of Galileo’s legal trouble had begun when he described planetary motion as elliptical. The Vatican exalted the perfection of the circle and insisted heavenly motion must be only circular. Galileo’s Illuminati, however, saw perfection in the ellipse as well, revering the mathematical duality of its twin foci. The Illuminati’s ellipse was prominent even today in modern Masonic tracing boards and footing inlays.

Shiva raised both his arms in an elegant circular movement to the sides to bring them in line with his shoulder. His right hand was holding an imaginary dumru, a small, handheld percussion instrument. His left hand was open with its palm facing upward, almost like it was receiving some divine energy. He held this pose for some time; his glowing face indicated that Shiva was withdrawing into his inner world. His right hand then moved effortlessly forward, almost as if it had a mind of its own. Its palm was now open and facing the audience. Somehow, the posture seemed to convey a feeling of protectiveness to a very surprised Sati. Almost languidly, his left arm glided at shoulder height and came to rest with the palm facing downwards and pointing at the left foot. Shiva held this pose for some time. And then began the dance. Sati stared in wonder at Shiva. He was performing the same steps as her. Yet it looked like a completely different dance. His lyrical hand movements graced the mystical motion of his body. How could a body this muscular also be so flexible? The Guruji tried helplessly to get his dhol to give Shiva the beats. But clearly that wasn’t necessary. As it was Shiva’s feet which were leading the beat for the dhol! The dance conveyed the various emotions of a woman. In the beginning it conveyed her feelings of joy and lust as she cavorted with her husband. The next emotion was anger and pain at the treacherous killing of her mate. Despite his rough masculine body, Shiva managed to convey the tender yet strong emotions of a grieving woman. Shiva’s eyes were open. But the audience realised that he was oblivious to them. Shiva was in his own world. He did not dance for the audience. He did not dance for appreciation. He did not dance for the music. He danced only for himself. In fact, it almost seemed like his dance was guided by a celestial force. Sati realised that Shiva was right. He had opened himself and the dance had come to him. After what seemed like an eternity the dance came to an end, with Shiva’s eyes firmly shut. He held the final pose for a long time as the glow slowly left him. It was almost as if he was returning to this world. Shiva gradually opened his eyes to find Sati, Krittika and the Guruji gaping at him wonder-struck.

triple duty—nouns, verbs, and adverbs in asl DID YOU KNOW? The number or quality of repeated movements within a sign can mean the difference between a noun, verb, or adverb, or provide multiple kinds of information simultaneously. This grammatical feature means ASL is often more economical than spoken language. NOUN: Repeat the sign’s movement twice using a small range of motion. For example, the pointer and middle fingers are tapped against each other to make the sign “chair.” VERB: The sign’s movement is made only once, using a larger range of motion. Sometimes this movement is altered to more closely mirror the real-life action (see: “cup” → “drink”). Here the pointer and middle fingers of one hand are set on the other to make the verb “to sit.” Greater force and a stern facial expression can form the command “sit down.” ADVERB: Some signs can be imbued with descriptive information by tweaking or adding movement. For example, to add the information for a long period of time, a sign can be adjusted to incorporate a slow, circular motion (see: working, sitting). NOW YOU TRY! Using the base sign study, tell a partner about a time when you had to study hard or for a long time.

The Indian observed that there were no straight lines in Nature. The Sun and the Moon were round, and so was the Earth. The rising and the setting of the Sun was a circular motion. Birds built their nests in circles. The growth pattern of trees and rocks was circular. Many Indians lived in circular homes called tipis , and native communities were set up around a circle because the whole of Nature expressed itself in circular patterns. Only the white man, it seemed, thought of everything in straight lines.

You need to learn to identify the danger and move fast, taking advantage of the short window of opportunity. Note that you have to do it while training your body in quick chain reactions. Consider your opponent’s capability in using straight attacks from a greater distance and circular attacks from a shorter distance. If the starting point is from a greater distance, and your opponent has paused for a moment, you might have time to move your whole body and meet him halfway either with a kick or a hand defense. If the attacker is lunging forward with a straight stab, start with throwing your forearm toward his wrist and pulling the rest of your body away. Land forward as you counterattack and then try to grab his wrist for further control and safety. At this point, you control his arm and he cannot use the blade against you. If your opponent is attacking with a straight stab, it would be faster for him to lunge with the blade forward than for you to move your body out of the way. Yet remember that with a straight stab stance, he can lunge and stab you from two to three steps away in a split second. Stand still and just deflect his knife-holding wrist with the inside of your forearm by spinning it inward. Your arm motion will pull your torso at a horizontal forty-five degree pivot. Immediately after, deflect your opponent’s wrist, and fall forward as you can plan your landing position while in motion. You can also grab his retracting hand at its exit point, not giving him the freedom of movement. Remember that you are looking to strike him with your free hand at the same time. If, during training, your opponent or training partner knows what to expect from you, he will pull his arm behind his back so you cannot grab his wrist. Punching his face will foil any attempts to bring his arm back and try to poke you anywhere in your body. Obviously you can hit him lightly to buy yourself a second or two and then grab his arm. Or, you can hit him lightly again until you get control over the knife. If you are caught by surprise from a short distance and you manage to see the motion of a hand, but you don't have time to determine whether the hand has a blade or not, your blocks should be instinctively directed to your opponent’s wrists. You should counterattack with your free hand immediately after. If you see that your opponent is or might be holding a knife, you can kick and stop him before he plans to stab.

As a result, I would not try to copy the left heal motion of Jack Nicklaus.  If your body flexibility does not allow you to make a full rotation on your backswing without raising your left heal, then by all means, raise your left heal a little.  If you make this small adjustment, be careful not to allow your heal raise to change your spine angle.  What I mean by this clarification is you cannot allow raising your left heal to force your left shoulder higher in relation to your right shoulder.  This changes the angle of your spine during the swing, which is absolutely something you want to avoid.  Not only do you want to avoid changing your spine angle from a ball striking consistency stand point, you also want to avoid changing your spine angle to keep yourself from injuring your back.  Your body has no trouble rotating around the axis the spine creates.  If you start changing this spine angle as you swing, you begin to put pressure on different parts of your spine.  The changing angle redirects the motion around your spine from a circular motion that is free of compression to a motion driving the force of your rotation into compressing your discs.  Do yourself and your body a favor, and do not try and change your spine angle throughout your swing.  Golf should be enjoyed and be pain-free.  Tiger Woods is the most glaring example of this problem.  Tiger always dropped his head as he rotated into his downswing.  Effectively, Tiger was changing his spine angle during the second part of his swing.  Over time, this changing spine angle and the force with which Tiger rotated into his golf shots created a tremendous amount of pressure on his back.  Four back surgeries later, he has been forced to change his swing to keep his spine angle neutral.  Fortunately, if you are using your body to create the rotational movement of your swing and your arms to create the vertical motion of your swing, you will not need to think about your spine angle.

Oh, shit. Are you worried you can’t live up to the book boyfriends she writes?” “Book boyfriends?” “You know… the male main characters. The hero. Usually over six feet tall, jacked, has a massive cock, and knows how to make a woman orgasm simply by looking at them,” he explained. “Uhhhh.” I couldn’t help but gawk at the words coming out of my brother’s mouth. “I get it.” He nodded. “But what some might view as unrealistic standards created for men by women can be used to your advantage. Think of them as instruction manuals.” Jaxon snapped his fingers. “Or inspiration! Ask her if there’s a scene she wants to re-enact. Should fix it.” I waved my hand in a circular motion in front of his face. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say any of that, okay?” He shrugged. “I’m only trying to help.” “That much is clear,” I muttered.

The enthralling elegance of mathematics defines the circular motion of the stars, the angles of observation, the tallies of our economics, the shapes of our tools, the counting of our assets, and the creation of delicious food, compelling art, and captivating music. The span of our evolution provides a humbling realization that the brain has been mathematically evolving for thousands of years before any evidence we may currently have. Concepts and ideas have continually built upon previous mathematical truths, which humans have frequently proved, tested, and retested to establish new foundational truths. These scientific truths linger in the mathematical cognizance of the birds that count their hatchlings, the bees that geometrically shape their homes, the dogs that count their treats, and the seals that understand the flow of the oceans currents.

Stroking the scales with a peculiar circular motion of his fingers, a motion which always carried the fingers back to their starting place, his voice sank still lower as he whispered dark names and grisly incantations forgotten the world over save in the grim hinterlands of dark Stygia, where monstrous shapes move in the dusk of the tombs.

FDM (Fused Deposition Modeling) printers There is no hard and fast classification of the FDM 3D printers Cartesian 3D Printers: These are the most common type, operating on a straightforward Cartesian coordinate system with linear rails guiding movement along the X, Y, and Z axes. They are recognized for their simplicity and reliability. Delta 3D Printers: Delta printers employ a triangular configuration of three arms attached to moving carriages at the printer's apex. The print head hangs from these carriages, executing precise movements to craft the intended object. Delta printers excel in speed and consistency, particularly in producing tall items. CoreXY 3D Printers: CoreXY printers utilize a distinctive belt-driven mechanism to maneuver the print head across the X and Y axes. This design separates the print head's motion from that of the build platform, resulting in swifter and more accurate prints. Enthusiasts favor CoreXY printers for their speed and precision. Polar 3D Printers: Polar printers feature a circular build platform and a print head that moves both radially and vertically. This configuration facilitates continuous rotation of the print bed, enabling the creation of objects with intricate geometric shapes. Polar printers are commonly employed for crafting artistic and sculptural pieces. SCARA 3D Printers: SCARA (Selective Compliance Articulated Robot Arm) printers utilize a robotic arm mechanism to navigate the print head in a two-dimensional plane. This design offers rapid and precise movement, making SCARA printers ideal for producing small, intricate objects with exceptional accuracy. Each variant of FDM 3D printer has its own strengths and is tailored to diverse applications, spanning from hobbyist endeavors to industrial-scale manufacturing.

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cautiously. “Mark Rothko? Is that when he got Alizée’s paintings from Eleanor Roosevelt?” “He gets the painting from the other one.” I sat up, senses heightened. “What other one?” “She gives him the one he carries with him all the time.” “Is it big?” I asked. “Red, white, and blue? Or does it look like lily pads?” “Bloom. That is where we go first. We are worried she is . . .” Grand-mère made a circular motion with her forefinger. “She is not all there in the head.” “The painting looks like blooms? Like flowers?” Lily Pads could be interpreted that way. “Did you go with him to visit Eleanor Roosevelt?

I cannot allow you to burn the candle at both ends, Emmaline,” St. Just scolded. “Either we find you some assistance in the kitchen, or we get you some more rest. You look exhausted, and Douglas agrees, so it’s a bona fide fact. I’m going to take Winnie out with me tomorrow morning, and you’re going to sleep in.” “Sleep in,” Emmie said, the way some women might have said “a dozen new bonnets” or “chocolate” or “twenty thousand a year.” “It isn’t a baking day tomorrow,” the earl went on. “Winnie has acquainted me with every detail of her schedule, and baking isn’t on for tomorrow. So you will rest?” “I will sleep in,” Emmie said as they reached her room and pushed her door open. He preceded her into the darkened chamber and lit several candles while she watched. “You will go directly to bed,” he admonished. “No languishing in the arms of Mr. Darcy or whatever it is you read to soothe you into slumber.” She listened to him lecturing as she drifted around the room in slow, random motion. “Emmie?” He set the candles down and frowned at her. “What is amiss?” “Nothing.” But her voice quavered just the least little bit as she sat on her bed. “I’m just tired. My thanks for a pleasant evening.” He went to the bed and paused, frowning down at her mightily. He let out a gusty exhalation, then drew her to feet and wrapped his arms around her. “We will both be relieved when your damned menses have arrived.” For an instant, she was stiff and resisting against him, but then she drew in a shuddery breath, nodded silently, and laid her cheek on his chest. He held her, stroking her hair with one hand, keeping her anchored to him with the other, and the warmth and solid strength of him left her feeling more tired but in some fashion relieved, as well. Winnie would thrive in his care. Thrive in ways Emmie could never have afforded. “There is no crime, Emmie, in seeking a little comfort betimes. Being grown up doesn’t mean we can’t need the occasional embrace or hand to hold.” She nodded again and let her arms steal around his waist. Slowly, she gave in to what he offered, letting him support more and more of her weight. His hand drifted from her hair to her back, and when he swept his palm over her shoulder blades in a slow, circular caress, she sighed and rubbed her cheek against him. She could have stood there all night, so peaceful and right did it feel to be in his arms. His scent was enveloping her, his body warming hers. “Thank you,” she said, mustering a smile when he stepped back. “And good night, good knight.” He must have comprehended her play on words, because he returned her smile, kissed her forehead and her cheek, and withdrew. She

The smooth undulating movements of Bellydance for birth aid a woman's ability to deal with her labour in an opening rather than restrictive fashion. The soothing rocking motions of the circular, figure 8 and spiral movements set the scene for a birthing woman to flow with the natural rhythms of her labouring body - to become connected not only to nature and the universe but deeply bonded to her baby within.

I pour buttermilk into the crater and work the mixture until it is pasty. Using my fingers, I pull dry flour into the wet ingredients, building on the dough, kneading it, drawing meal from the sides. My fingers make small circles while my hand makes a larger circular motion, working around the bowl.

Motion that is circular is the deadest form of the universe.” Another voice said, “Time.” He knew the answer to that. Time is round.

...My niece Peggy is at camp in the Adirondacks so I am staying in her room. It's essence of teenage girl: soft lilac walls, colored photographs of rock stars, nosegays of artificial flowers, signs on the door: THIS ROOM IS A DISASTER AREA, and GARBAGEDUMP. 'Some ashcan at the world's end...' But this is not my family's story, nor is it Molly's: the coon hound pleading silently for table scraps. The temperature last night dipped into the forties: a record for August 14th. There is a German down pouff on the bed and I was glad to wriggle under it and sleep the sleep of the just. Today is a perfection of blue: the leaves go lisp in the breeze. I wish I were a better traveler; I love new places, the arrival in station after the ennui of a trip. On the train across the aisle from me there was a young couple. He read while she stroked the flank of his chest in a circular motion, motherly, covetous. They kissed. What is lovelier than young love? Will it only lead to barren years of a sour marriage? They were perfect together. I wish them well. This coffee is cold. The eighteen-cup pot like most inventions doesn't work so well. A few days: how to celebrate them? It's today I want to memorialize but how can I? What is there to it? Cold coffee and a ham-salad sandwich? A skinny peach tree holds no peaches. Molly howls at the children who come to the door. What did they want? It's the wrong time of year for Girl Scout cookies. My mother can't find her hair net. She nurses a cup of coffee substitute, since her religion (Christian Science) forbids the use of stimulants. On this desk, a vase of dried blue flowers, a vase of artificial roses, a bottle with a dog for a stopper, a lamp, two plush lions that hug affectionately, a bright red travel clock, a Remington Rand, my Olivetti, the ashtray and the coffee cup....

Twirling round ‘n round - faster and faster … she dreams this circular motion will take her home, high in the heavens where hurt is only an earthly world.

Dawn came in wisps of pink against a blue-gray sky. Through the trees, shafts of misty sunlight formed luminous motes of warmth along the river. Birds sang. Squirrels chattered. The low rush of the water was ceaseless. Loretta woke slowly, aware before she opened her eyes that something was horribly wrong. Amy wasn’t this big. The arm around her was hard and heavy, the warm hand that cupped her breast distinctly masculine. She frowned and wondered where the hairy blanket touching her cheek had come from. Where was the gray down quilt? Why did she hurt everywhere? Through the spikes of her eyelashes, she stared at a gnarled tree root. A breeze stirred the leaves overhead. The moldy floor of the forest blended its musty smell with the rich, tantalizing aroma of coffee. Then the sound of men’s voices drifted to her, the tones conversational, interspersed with an occasional chuckle. Friendly voices. Normal-sounding voices--except for one thing. She couldn’t understand the language. With a start, she remembered. Her sudden gasp of alarm woke the Comanche who held her in his arms. She knew without looking that it was Hunter, the most horrible. His hand tightened reflexively on her naked breast, and his arm hardened to steel around her. He grunted something and nuzzled her neck. Loretta’s first instinct was to grab his hand, but she no sooner tried than she realized that her own were bound behind her. He pressed his face against her hair and took a deep breath. She could tell he was only half-awake by the slow, lazy way he moved. His thumb grazed her nipple, teasing the sensitive tip into an unwilling response. Her body sprang taut as well, jerking with every flick of his fingers. He yawned and pressed closer. Oh, God, help me. Lowering his hand to her belly, he pressed his palm against her spasm-stricken muscles and kneaded away the tightness. She felt like a sensitive harp string, thrummed by expert fingers. Horrified by her body’s reaction, she tried to twist free, but he threw a damp, buckskin-clad leg over both of hers and pinned her to the fur. Her back stung each time she moved, the pain so sharp it made beads of sweat pop out on her brow. Her thighs felt as if they were on fire. “M-mm-m, you are still hot,” he mumbled. His hand lingered on her belly. “Not too bad where the sun did not touch, though. The fever is better.” No man had ever dared touch her like this. She tossed her head from side to side, strained to get her arms and legs free, then shuddered in defeat. “Do not fight.” His voice was so close, it seemed to come from within her own mind. “You cannot win, eh? Rest.” His sleepy whispers invaded her whole being, slow, hypnotic, persuasive. He rubbed her in a circular motion, pausing in sleep, then coming awake to rub some more. “Lie still. Trust this Comanche. It is for the burn, no? To heal your skin.

Lowering his hand to her belly, he pressed his palm against her spasm-stricken muscles and kneaded away the tightness. She felt like a sensitive harp string, thrummed by expert fingers. Horrified by her body’s reaction, she tried to twist free, but he threw a damp, buckskin-clad leg over both of hers and pinned her to the fur. Her back stung each time she moved, the pain so sharp it made beads of sweat pop out on her brow. Her thighs felt as if they were on fire. “M-mm-m, you are still hot,” he mumbled. His hand lingered on her belly. “Not too bad where the sun did not touch, though. The fever is better.” No man had ever dared touch her like this. She tossed her head from side to side, strained to get her arms and legs free, then shuddered in defeat. “Do not fight.” His voice was so close, it seemed to come from within her own mind. “You cannot win, eh? Rest.” His sleepy whispers invaded her whole being, slow, hypnotic, persuasive. He rubbed her in a circular motion, pausing in sleep, then coming awake to rub some more. “Lie still. Trust this Comanche. It is for the burn, no? To heal your skin.” As he slid his palm slowly downward, she realized she was slick with some kind of oil. Her heart drummed a sensual alto, off-key to the soprano shrills of fear emitted by her nerve endings. No, please, no. He molded his hand to the slight mound between her thighs, searching out its external softness, his fingertips undulating in a subtle manipulation that shot bolts of sensation to the core of her. Nuzzling her hair again, he sighed, his warm breath raising goose bumps on her neck. “Ah, Blue Eyes, your mother did not lie. You are sweet.” He gave the conjuncture of her thighs a farewell caress, then traced the curve of her hip with a hand that skimmed the painfully burned flesh there so lightly that she scarcely felt it. The pressure of his palm increased when it gained purchase on her ribs where the sun had not reached. His hand tightened its grip, squeezed, and released so rhythmically that it seemed to keep time with the strange, blood-pounding beat inside her. It was as if he had begun the rhythm within her, as if he somehow knew the thrusts, the lulls, better than she.

Do not fight.” His voice was so close, it seemed to come from within her own mind. “You cannot win, eh? Rest.” His sleepy whispers invaded her whole being, slow, hypnotic, persuasive. He rubbed her in a circular motion, pausing in sleep, then coming awake to rub some more. “Lie still. Trust this Comanche. It is for the burn, no? To heal your skin.” As he slid his palm slowly downward, she realized she was slick with some kind of oil. Her heart drummed a sensual alto, off-key to the soprano shrills of fear emitted by her nerve endings. No, please, no. He molded his hand to the slight mound between her thighs, searching out its external softness, his fingertips undulating in a subtle manipulation that shot bolts of sensation to the core of her. Nuzzling her hair again, he sighed, his warm breath raising goose bumps on her neck. “Ah, Blue Eyes, your mother did not lie. You are sweet.” He gave the conjuncture of her thighs a farewell caress, then traced the curve of her hip with a hand that skimmed the painfully burned flesh there so lightly that she scarcely felt it. The pressure of his palm increased when it gained purchase on her ribs where the sun had not reached. His hand tightened its grip, squeezed, and released so rhythmically that it seemed to keep time with the strange, blood-pounding beat inside her. It was as if he had begun the rhythm within her, as if he somehow knew the thrusts, the lulls, better than she. Held captive now by more than bonds and strength of arm, she turned her face to study his, fascinated by the sleepy innocence that clouded his half-closed eyes. The merciless killer was gone, replaced by a drowsy, mischievous boy who stroked her as if she were a newly acquired pet. A slow smile curved his mouth, a dreamy smile that told her he was more asleep than awake. He moved closer to whisper something unintelligible against her cheek. Her lips tingled, then parted. She found herself wondering how it might have felt if he had kissed her, then cringed at the wayward thought. Comanches didn’t kiss, they just took. And her time was running out. With the tip of his tongue, he outlined her ear. “Topsannah, tani-har-ro.” The words came out so slurred, she doubted he even knew he was saying them. “Prairie flower,” he muttered, “in springtime.

The lower brain—including the pons and the brain stem—is primarily responsible for our “subconscious” processes, those many activities which are more complex and integrated than cord reflexes, but of which we are seldom aware. To begin with, many more sequences of simple reflexes are possible if the pons and the stem are left intact with the cord. The lower brain clearly assists the cord in fine-tuning responses, and in arranging them in the appropriate order so that they produce more integrated behavior. The complicated sequences of muscular contraction necessary for sucking and swallowing, for example, are monitored at this level. These are skills with which a human infant is born; their underlying circuits—and even more importantly, the correct sequence of operation of these circuits—is a product of early genetic development, not individual experience and learning. In general, the lower brain seems to share many of the “hard-wired” features of the spinal cord. Axons and synapses form organizational units that appear to be consistent for all individuals of the same species, and their activation produces identical, stereotyped contractions and motions. But the additional complexities of the lower brain appear to enable it to pick and choose more freely among various possible circuits, and to arrange the stereotyped responses with a lot more flexibility than is possible with the cord alone. For instance, it is in the lower brain that information from the semi-circular canals in the inner ear—the sensory organ for gravitational perceptions and balance—is coordinated with the cord’s postural reflexes. A stiff stance can be elicited from these postural reflexes by merely putting pressure on the bottoms of the feet; by adding information concerning gravity and balance to this stance, the same reflex cord circuits may be continually adjusted to compensate for shifts in equilibrium as we tilt the floor upon which the animal is standing, or as we push him this way or that. A rigid fixed posture is made more flexible and at the same time more stable, because compensating adjustments among the simple postural reflexes is now possible. The lower brain coordinates the movements of the eyes, so that they track together. It directs digestive and metabolic processes and glandular secretions, and determines the patterns of circulation by controlling arterial blood pressure. And not only does it give new coordination to separate parts, it influences the system as a whole in ways that cannot be done by the segmental arrangement of the cord.

woman to do well with labor: Be sure to rub exactly where it aches. Obviously, she will be able to tell you just where that is. The spot is not in the small of the back nor all the way down at the tailbone, but usually somewhere in between. You should rub this spot in a small, tight circle. She will tell you just where to rub, and she is the one to please. The heel of your hand or the front of your fist usually works best for this back rub. You may find it helpful to wrap your hand in a soft cloth, like an old T-shirt. Have your hand in place before the contraction starts. Don’t wait for her to tell you the contraction is under way and then try to put your hand on her back. That’s sloppy. It is exactly what the untrained husband does when trying to help his wife, and it’s exactly why she tells him to leave her alone. Rub with a slow, steady rhythm in one direction. If you break the rhythm it distracts her attention immediately and she may snap at you. Press your hand firmly into the back and then rotate it in a circular motion. Do not slide your hand over her skin. That is irritating and will soon leave a raw feeling. Press inward—it will require a lot of pressure—and let the skin move with your hand in that circular motion. This is a deep massage.