Optical Image Quotes

There are two kinds of visual memory: one when you skillfully recreate an image in the laboratory of your mind, with your eyes open (and then I see Annabel in such general terms as: "honey-colored skin," "thin arms," "brown bobbed hair," "long lashes," "big bright mouth"); and the other when you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark innerside of your eyelids, the objective, absolutely optical replica of a beloved face, a little ghost in natural colors (and this is how I see Lolita).

To achieve accurate knowledge of others, if such a thing were possible, we could only ever arrive at it through the slow and unsure recognition of our own initial optical inaccuracies. However, such knowledge is not possible: for, while our vision of others is being adjusted, they, who are not made of mere brute matter, are also changing; we think we have managed to see them more clearly, but they shift; and when we believe we have them fully in focus, it is merely our older images of them that we have clarified, but which are themselves already out of date.

Annabel was, like the writer, of mixed parentage: half-English, half-Dutch, in her case. I remember her features far less distinctly today than I did a few years ago, before I knew Lolita. There are two kinds of visual memory: one when you skillfully recreate an image in the laboratory of your mind, with your eyes open (and then I see Annabel in such general terms as: "honey-colored skin," "thin arms," "brown bobbed hair," "long lashes," "big bright mouth"); and the other when you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark innerside of your eyelids, the objective, absolutely optical replica of a beloved face, a little ghost in natural colors (and this is how I see Lolita).

There are two kinds of visual memory: one when you skillfully recreate an image in the laboratory of your mind, [...]; and the other when you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark innerside of your eyelids, the objective, absolutely optical replica of a beloved face, a little ghost in natural colors.

At this moment, in this place, the shifting action potential in my neurons cascade into certain arrangements, patterns, thoughts; they flow down my spine, branch into my arms, my fingers, until muscles twitch and thought is translated into motion; mechanical levers are pressed; electrons are rearranged; marks are made on paper. At another time, in another place, light strikes the marks, reflects into a pair of high-precision optical instruments sculpted by nature after billions of years of random mutations; upside-down images are formed against two screens made up of millions of light-sensitive cells, which translate light into electrical pulses that go up the optic nerves, cross the chiasm, down the optic tracts, and into the visual cortex, where the pulses are reassembled into letters, punctuation marks, words, sentences, vehicles, tenors, thoughts. The entire system seems fragile, preposterous, science fictional.

The link between man and the world is broken. Henceforth, this link must become an object of belief: it is the impossible which can only be restored within a faith. Belief is no longer addressed to a different or transformed world. Man is in the world as if in a pure optical and sound situation. The reaction of which man has been dispossessed can be replaced only by belief. Only belief in the world can reconnect man to what he sees and hears. The cinema must film, not the world, but belief in this world, our only link.

Love? What is it? The most natural painkiller what there is.” You may become curious, though, about what happened to that painkiller should depression take hold and expose your love—whatever its object—as just one of the many intoxicants that muddled your consciousness of the human tragedy. You may also want to take a second look at whatever struck you as a person, place, or thing of “beauty,” a quality that lives only in the neurotransmitters of the beholder. (Aesthetics? What is it? A matter for those not depressed enough to care nothing about anything, that is, those who determine almost everything that is supposed to matter to us. Protest as you like, neither art nor an aesthetic view of life are distractions granted to everyone.) In depression, all that once seemed beautiful, or even startling and dreadful, is nothing to you. The image of a cloud-crossed moon is not in itself a purveyor of anything mysterious or mystical; it is only an ensemble of objects represented to us by our optical apparatus and perhaps processed as a memory.

Memory must have a good PR agent, because in reality, as an instrument of optical precision, it seems to me little better than a fairground kaleidoscope. To reconstruct an experience on the basis of images stored in our brains at times borders on hallucination. We do not recover the past, we re-create it: an act of dramaturgy if ever there was one. Memory edits things, colors them, mixes cement with the rainbow, does whatever’s needed to make the story work.

He could swear he did not look back, could not—by any optical chance, or in any prism—have seen her physically as he walked away; and yet, with dreadful distinction, he retained forever a composite picture of her standing where he left her. The picture—which penetrated him, through an eye in the back of his head, through his vitreous spinal canal, and could never be lived down, never—consisted of a selection and blend of such random images and expressions of hers that had affected him with a pang of intolerable remorse at various moments in the past.

The individual, floating, but held on a leash like a dog, like an eye popping out of its socket, hanging on the end of its optic nerve, scanning the horizon through 180 degrees but not sending back any images—a disembodied panoptical terminal, runaway organ of a species of mutants.

When a body succeeds in emitting or in reflecting luminous vibrations in a distinct and recognizable order--I thought--what does it do with these vibrations? Put them in its pocket? No, it releases them on the first passer-by. And how will the latter behave in the face of vibrations he can't utilize and which, taken in this way, might even be annoying? Hide his head in a hole? No, he'll thrust it out in that direction until the point most exposed to the optic vibrations becomes sensitized and develops the mechanism for exploiting them in the form of images. In short, I conceived of the eye-encephalon link as a kind of tunnel dug from the outside by the force of what was ready to become image, rather than from within by the intention of picking up any old image.

For example, the lithographic process used to lay out integrated circuits was initially based on optical imaging techniques. When the size of individual device elements shrank to the point where the wavelength of visible light was too long to allow for further progress, the semiconductor industry moved on to X-ray lithography.

Then she placed her hands, vertically, over her eyes and pressed the heels hard, as though to paralyze the optic nerve and drown all images into a voidlike black.

The earliest discovery of Pasteur, and for him the most exciting in all his life, was the asymmetry of molecules as a specific characteristic of living organisms-in other words, the fact that the molecules of living matter come in two varieties which, though chemically identical, are in their spatial structure like mirror images to each other-or like right and left gloves. 'Left-handed' molecules rotate polarized light to the left, 'right-handed' molecules to the right; life substances are thus 'optically active'. Why this should be so we still do not quite know; but it remains a challenging fact that 'no other chemical characteristic is as distinctive of living organisms as is optical activity'.

The German astronomer Johannes Kepler coined the term “camera obscura” in the early seventeenth century, but by then the phenomenon had been known for millennia; in fact, it is perhaps the oldest known optical illusion. Some form of camera obscura was most likely behind a popular illusion performed in ancient Greece and Rome, in which spectral images were cast upon the smoke of burning incense by performers using concave metal mirrors—hence the expression “smoke and mirrors.

Take this a step further, when an image pierces the memory and bounces off an answering memory from the past, or a vision of the future. The optical phenomenon of iridescence—rainbows arcing from peacocks or blue morphos—begins with repeated reflections from translucent, ridged surfaces; when the viewer moves, the colors seem to change. The iridescence of memory happens when one image (physical) illuminates another (imagined): not quite a reflection, but a refraction. These visions, these flashes of color come again and again. How then must I live?

However, questions arise. Are there people who aren't naive realists, or special situations in which naive realism disappears? My theory—the self-model theory of subjectivity—predicts that as soon as a conscious representation becomes opaque (that is, as soon as we experience it as a representation), we lose naive realism. Consciousness without naive realism does exist. This happens whenever, with the help of other, second-order representations, we become aware of the construction process—of all the ambiguities and dynamical stages preceding the stable state that emerges at the end. When the window is dirty or cracked, we immediately realize that conscious perception is only an interface, and we become aware of the medium itself. We doubt that our sensory organs are working properly. We doubt the existence of whatever it is we are seeing or feeling, and we realize that the medium itself is fallible. In short, if the book in your hands lost its transparency, you would experience it as a state of your mind rather than as an element of the outside world. You would immediately doubt its independent existence. It would be more like a book-thought than a book-perception. Precisely this happens in various situations—for example, In visual hallucinations during which the patient is aware of hallucinating, or in ordinary optical illusions when we suddenly become aware that we are not in immediate contact with reality. Normally, such experiences make us think something is wrong with our eyes. If you could consciously experience earlier processing stages of the representation of the book In your hands, the image would probably become unstable and ambiguous; it would start to breathe and move slightly. Its surface would become iridescent, shining in different colors at the same time. Immediately you would ask yourself whether this could be a dream, whether there was something wrong with your eyes, whether someone had mixed a potent hallucinogen into your drink. A segment of the wall of the Ego Tunnel would have lost its transparency, and the self-constructed nature of the overall flow of experience would dawn on you. In a nonconceptual and entirely nontheoretical way, you would suddenly gain a deeper understanding of the fact that this world, at this very moment, only appears to you.

Wherever the truth lies, in order to eliminate flicker, the rotating shutter within the projector has to allow each image to be flashed upon the screen twice. Thus, whenever we watch a movie, we spend half the time gazing at an optical illusion and the other half sitting in the dark in front of a blank screen.

He let himself surrender for a moment to a visceral sense of identity which drowned out all his pale mental images of optical processors, all his abstract reflections on the software’s approximations and short-cuts. This body didn’t want to evaporate. This body didn’t want to bail out. It didn’t much care that there was another – “more real” – version of itself, elsewhere. It wanted to retain its wholeness. It wanted to endure.

Paul closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun. In spite of everything, it was hard not to take solace from the warmth flooding onto his skin. He stretched the muscles in his arms, his shoulders, his back -- and it felt like he was reaching out from the "self" in his virtual skull to all his mathematical flesh, imprinting the nebulous data with meaning; binding it all together, staking some kind of claim. He felt the stirrings of an erection. Existence was beginning to seduce him. He let himself surrender for a moment to a visceral sense of identity which drowned out all his pale mental images of optical processors, all his abstract reflections on the software's approximations and short-cuts. This body didn't want to evaporate. This body didn't want to bale out. It didn't much care that there was another -- "more real" -- version of itself elsewhere. It wanted to retain its wholeness. It wanted to endure.

There are two kinds of visual memory: one when you skillfully recreate an image in the laboratory of your mind, with your eyes open (and then I see Annabel in such general terms as: “honey-colored skin,” “thin arms,” “brown bobbed hair,” “long lashes,” “big bright mouth”); and the other when you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark innerside of your eyelids, the objective, absolutely optical replica of a beloved face, a little ghost in natural colors (and this is how I see Lolita).

Image intensifiers, which ultimately became “night vision” Fiber optics Supertenacity fibers Lasers Molecular alignment metallic alloys Integrated circuits and microminiaturization of logic boards HARP (High Altitude Research Project) Project Horizon (moon base) Portable atomic generators (ion propulsion drive) Irradiated food “Third brain” guidance systems (EBE headbands) Particle beams (“Star Wars” antimissile energy weapons) Electromagnetic propulsion systems Depleted uranium projectiles

Every act of communication is a miracle of translation. At this moment, in this place, the shifting action potentials in my neurons cascade into certain arrangements, patterns, thoughts; they flow down my spine, branch into my arms, my fingers, until muscles twitch and thought is translated into motion; mechanical levers are pressed; electrons are rearranged; marks are made on paper. At another time, in another place, light strikes the marks, reflects into a pair of high precision optical instruments sculpted by nature after billions of years of random mutations; upside-down images are formed against two screens made up of millions of light-sensitive cells, which translate light into electrical pulses that go up optic nerves, cross the chasm, down the optic tracts, and into the visual cortex, where the pulses are reassembled into letters, punctuation marks, words, sentences, vehicles, tenors, thoughts. The entire system seems fragile, preposterous, science fictional. Who can say if the thoughts you have in your mind as you read these words are the same thoughts I had in my mind as I typed them? We are different, you and I, and the qualia of our consciousnesses are as divergent as two stars at the ends of the universe. And yet, whatever has been lost in translation in the long journey of my thoughts through the maze of civilization to your mind, I think you do understand me, and you think you do understand me. Our minds managed to touch, if but briefly and imperfectly.

Greatest engineering achievements of 20th century ranked by National Academy of Engineering: 1. Electrification 2. Automobile 3. Airplane 4. Water supply and distribution 5. Electronics 6. Radio and Television 7. Mechanization of agriculture 8. Computers 9. The telephone system 10. Air-Conditioning and Refrigeration 11. Highways 12. Spacecraft 13. The Internet 14. Imaging 15. Household appliances 16. Health technologies 17. Petroleum and Petrochemical Technologies 18. Lasers and Fiber-optics 19. Nuclear technologies 20. High performance materials

I have been all day thinking of a legend," he said. "I don't remember whether I have read it somewhere or heard it, but it is a strange and almost grotesque legend. To begin with, it is somewhat obscure. A thousand years ago a monk, dressed in black, wandered about the desert, somewhere in Syria or Arabia. . . . Some miles from where he was, some fisherman saw another black monk, who was moving slowly over the surface of a lake. This second monk was a mirage. Now forget all the laws of optics, which the legend does not recognise, and listen to the rest. From that mirage there was cast another mirage, then from that other a third, so that the image of the black monk began to be repeated endlessly from one layer of the atmosphere to another. So that he was seen at one time in Africa, at another in Spain, then in Italy, then in the Far North. . . . Then he passed out of the atmosphere of the earth, and now he is wandering all over the universe, still never coming into conditions in which he might disappear. Possibly he may be seen now in Mars or in some star of the Southern Cross. But, my dear, the real point on which the whole legend hangs lies in the fact that, exactly a thousand years from the day when the monk walked in the desert, the mirage will return to the atmosphere of the earth again and will appear to men. And it seems that the thousand years is almost up . . . . According to the legend, we may look out for the black monk to-day or to-morrow.

At the end of its eight-minute journey from the sun, light passes through the stained glass of St Matthias Church in Richmond, London, and enters the dual darkrooms of Jasper’s eyeballs. The rods and cones packing his retinas convert the light into electrical impulses that travel along optic nerves into his brain, which translates the varying wavelengths of light into ‘Virgin Mary blue’, ‘blood of Christ red’, ‘Gethsemane green’, and interprets the images as twelve disciples, each occupying a segment of the cartwheel window. Vision begins in the heart of the sun. Jasper notes that Jesus’s disciples were, essentially, hippies: long hair, gowns, stoner expressions, irregular employment, spiritual convictions, dubious sleeping arrangements and a guru.

At the end of its eight-minute journey from the sun, light passes through the stained glass of St. Matthias Church in Richmond, London, and enters the dual darkrooms of Jasper’s eyeballs. The rods and cones packing his retinas convert the light into electrical impulses that travel along optic nerves into his brain, which translates the varying wavelengths of light into “Virgin Mary blue,” “blood of Christ red,” “Gethsemane green,” and interprets the images as twelve disciples, each occupying a segment of the cartwheel window. Vision begins in the heart of the sun. Jasper notes that Jesus’s disciples were, essentially, hippies: long hair, gowns, stoner expressions, irregular employment, spiritual convictions, dubious sleeping arrangements, and a guru.

The Coach’s head was oblong with tiny slits that served as eyes, which drifted in tides slowly inward, as though the face itself were the sea or, in fact, a soup of macromolecules through which objects might drift, leaving in their wake, ripples of nothingness. The eyes—they floated adrift like land masses before locking in symmetrically at seemingly prescribed positions off-center, while managing to be so closely drawn into the very middle of the face section that it might have seemed unnecessary for there to have been two eyes when, quite likely, one would easily have sufficed. These aimless, floating eyes were not the Coach’s only distinctive feature—for, in fact, connected to the interior of each eyelid by a web-like layer of rubbery pink tissue was a kind of snout which, unlike the eyes, remained fixed in its position among the tides of the face, arcing narrowly inward at the edges of its sharp extremities into a serrated beak-like projection that hooked downward at its tip, in a fashion similar to that of a falcon’s beak. This snout—or beak, rather—was, in fact, so long and came to such a fine point that as the eyes swirled through the soup of macromolecules that comprised the man’s face, it almost appeared—due to the seeming thinness of the pink tissue—that the eyes functioned as kinds of optical tether balls that moved synchronously across the face like mirror images of one another. 'I wore my lizard mask as I entered the tram, last evening, and people found me fearless,' the Coach remarked, enunciating each word carefully through the hollow clack-clacking sound of his beak, as its edges clapped together. 'I might have exchanged it for that of an ox and then thought better. A lizard goes best with scales, don’t you think?' Bunnu nodded as he quietly wondered how the Coach could manage to fit that phallic monstrosity of a beak into any kind of mask, unless, in fact, this disguise of which he spoke, had been specially designed for his face and divided into sections in such a way that they could be readily attached to different areas—as though one were assembling a new face—in overlapping layers, so as to veil, or perhaps even amplify certain distinguishable features. All the same, in doing so, one could only imagine this lizard mask to be enormous to the extent that it would be disproportionate with the rest of the Coach’s body. But then, there were ways to mask space, as well—to bend light, perhaps, to create the illusion that something was perceptibly larger or smaller, wider or narrower, rounder or more linear than it was in actuality. That is to say, any form of prosthesis designed for the purposes of affecting remedial space might, for example, have had the capability of creating the appearance of a gap of void in occupied space. An ornament hangs from the chin, let’s say, as an accessory meant to contour smoothly inward what might otherwise appear to be hanging jowls. This surely wouldn’t be the exact use that the Coach would have for such a device—as he had no jowls to speak of—though he could certainly see the benefit of the accessory’s ingenuity. This being said, the lizard mask might have appeared natural rather than disproportionate given the right set of circumstances. Whatever the case, there was no way of even knowing if the Coach wasn’t, in fact, already wearing a mask, at this very moment, rendering Bunnu’s initial appraisal of his character—as determined by a rudimentary physiognomic analysis of his features—a matter now subject to doubt. And thus, any conjecture that could be made with respect to the dimensions or components of a lizard mask—not to speak of the motives of its wearer—seemed not only impractical, but also irrelevant at this point in time.

Abruptly, then, and very quickly, she went in the farthest and most anonymous-looking of the seven or eight enclosures-which, by luck, didn’t require a coin for entrance-closed the door behind her, and, with some little difficulty, manipulated the bolt to a locked position. Without any apparent regard to the suchness of her environment, she sat down. She brought her knees together very firmly, as if to make herself a smaller, more compact unit. Then she placed her hands, vertically, over her eyes and pressed the heels hard, as though to paralyze the optic nerve and drown all images into a voidlike black. Her extended fingers, though trembling or because they were trembling, looked oddly graceful and pretty. She held that tense, almost fetal position for a suspensory moment-then broke down. She cried for fully five minutes. She cried without trying to suppress any of the noisier manifestations of grief and confusion with all the convulsive throat sounds that a hysterical child makes when the breath is trying to get up through a partly closed epiglottis. And yet, when finally she stopped, she merely stopped without the painful, knifelike intakes of breath that usually follow a violent outburst-inburst. When she stopped, it was as though some momentous change of polarity had taken place inside her mind, one that had an immediate, pacifying effect on her body.

What a difference there is between possessing a woman with one’s body alone, because she is no more than a piece of flesh, and possessing the girl one used to see on the beach with her friends on certain days, without even knowing why it was on those days and not on others, so that one trembled to think one might not see her again. Life had been so kind as to reveal the whole extent of this young girl’s life, had lent first one optical instrument, then another, to see her with, and then added to carnal desire the accompaniment, multiplying and diversifying it, of other desires, more spiritual and less easily satisfied, which lie inert and unaffected when it is merely a question of the conquest of a piece of flesh, but which, when they want to gain possession of a whole field of memories from which they have felt nostalgically exiled, surge up wildly around carnal desire, extend it, are unable to follow it to the fulfillment, the assimilation, impossible in the form in which it is sought, of an immaterial reality, but wait for this desire halfway and, the moment the memory of it returns, are there to escort it once more; to kiss, not the cheeks of the first woman who comes along—anonymous, devoid of mystery and glamour, however cool and fresh those cheeks may be—but those of which I had so long been dreaming, would be to know the taste, the savor, of a color I had so often contemplated. One sees a woman, a mere image in life’s scene, like Albertine silhouetted against the sea, and then it becomes possible to detach that image, bring it close, and gradually observe its volume, its colors, as though it had been placed behind the lenses of a stereoscope. For this reason, women who tend to be resistant and cannot be possessed at once, of whom indeed it is not immediately clear that they can ever be possessed at all, are the only interesting ones.

What a difference there is between possessing a woman with one’s body alone, because she is no more than a piece of flesh, and possessing the girl one used to see on the beach with her friends on certain days, without even knowing why it was on those days and not on others, so that one trembled to think one might not see her again. Life had been so kind as to reveal the whole extent of this young girl’s life, had lent first one optical instrument, then another, to see her with, and then added to carnal desire the accompaniment, multiplying and diversifying it, of other desires, more spiritual and less easily satisfied, which lie inert and unaffected when it is merely a question of the conquest of a piece of flesh, but which, when they want to gain possession of a whole field of memories from which they have felt nostalgically exiled, surge up wildly around carnal desire, extend it, are unable to follow it to the fulfillment, the assimilation, impossible in the form in which it is sought, of an immaterial reality, but wait for this desire halfway and, the moment the memory of it returns, are there to escort it once more; to kiss, not the cheeks of the first woman who comes along—anonymous, devoid of mystery and glamour, however cool and fresh those cheeks may be—but those of which I had so long been dreaming, would be to know the taste, the savor, of a color I had so often contemplated. One sees a woman, a mere image in life’s scene, like Albertine silhouetted against the sea, and then it becomes possible to detach that image, bring it close, and gradually observe its volume, its colors, as though it had been placed behind the lenses of a stereoscope. For this reason, women who tend to be resistant and cannot be possessed at once, of whom indeed it is not immediately clear that they can ever be possessed at all, are the only interesting ones. For to know them, to approach them, to conquer them is to make the human image vary in shape, in size, in relief, a lesson in relativity in the appreciation of a woman’s body, a joy to see anew when it has regained its slender outline against the backdrop of reality. Women who are first encountered in a brothel are of no interest, because they remain static.

Yatima found verself gazing at a red-tinged cluster of pulsing organic parts, a translucent confusion of fluids and tissue. Sections divided, dissolved, reorganised. It looked like a flesher embryo – though not quite a realist portrait. The imaging technique kept changing, revealing different structures: Yatima saw hints of delicate limbs and organs caught in slices of transmitted dark; a stark silhouette of bones in an X-ray flash; the finely branched network of the nervous system bursting into view as a filigreed shadow, shrinking from myelin to lipids to a scatter of vesicled neurotransmitters against a radio-frequency MRI chirp. There were two bodies now. Twins? One was larger, though – sometimes much larger. The two kept changing places, twisting around each other, shrinking or growing in stroboscopic leaps while the wavelengths of the image stuttered across the spectrum. One flesher child was turning into a creature of glass, nerves and blood vessels vitrifying into optical fibres. A sudden, startling white-light image showed living, breathing Siamese twins, impossibly transected to expose raw pink and grey muscles working side by side with shape-memory alloys and piezoelectric actuators, flesher and gleisner anatomies interpenetrating. The scene spun and morphed into a lone robot child in a flesher's womb; spun again to show a luminous map of a citizen's mind embedded in the same woman's brain; zoomed out to place her, curled, in a cocoon of optical and electronic cables. Then a swarm of nanomachines burst through her skin, and everything scattered into a cloud of grey dust. Two flesher children walked side by side, hand in hand. Or father and son, gleisner and flesher, citizen and gleisner... Yatima gave up trying to pin them down, and let the impressions flow through ver. The figures strode calmly along a city's main street, while towers rose and crumbled around them, jungle and desert advanced and retreated. The artwork, unbidden, sent Yatima's viewpoint wheeling around the figures. Ve saw them exchanging glances, touches, kisses – and blows, awkwardly, their right arms fused at the wrists. Making peace and melting together. The smaller lifting the larger on to vis shoulders – then the passenger's height flowing down to the bearer like an hourglass's sand.

The top surface of the computer is smooth except for a fisheye lens, a polished glass dome with a purplish optical coating. Whenever Hiro is using the machine, this lens emerges and clicks into place, its base flush with the surface of the computer. The neighborhood loglo is curved and foreshortened on its surface. Hiro finds it erotic. This is partly because he hasn't been properly laid in several weeks. But there's more to it. Hiro's father, who was stationed in Japan for many years, was obsessed with cameras. He kept bringing them back from his stints in the Far East, encased in many protective layers, so that when he took them out to show Hiro, it was like watching an exquisite striptease as they emerged from all that black leather and nylon, zippers and straps. And once the lens was finally exposed, pure geometric equation made real, so powerful and vulnerable at once, Hiro could only think it was like nuzzling through skirts and lingerie and outer labia and inner labia. . . . It made him feel naked and weak and brave. The lens can see half of the universe -- the half that is above the computer, which includes most of Hiro. In this way, it can generally keep track of where Hiro is and what direction he's looking in. Down inside the computer are three lasers -- a red one, a green one, and a blue one. They are powerful enough to make a bright light but not powerful enough to burn through the back of your eyeball and broil your brain, fry your frontals, lase your lobes. As everyone learned in elementary school, these three colors of light can be combined, with different intensities, to produce any color that Hiro's eye is capable of seeing. In this way, a narrow beam of any color can be shot out of the innards of the computer, up through that fisheye lens, in any direction. Through the use of electronic mirrors inside the computer, this beam is made to sweep back and forth across the lenses of Hiro's goggles, in much the same way as the electron beam in a television paints the inner surface of the eponymous Tube. The resulting image hangs in space in front of Hiro's view of Reality. By drawing a slightly different image in front of each eye, the image can be made three-dimensional. By changing the image seventy-two times a second, it can be made to move. By drawing the moving three-dimensional image at a resolution of 2K pixels on a side, it can be as sharp as the eye can perceive, and by pumping stereo digital sound through the little earphones, the moving 3-D pictures can have a perfectly realistic soundtrack. So Hiro's not actually here at all. He's in a computer-generated universe that his computer is drawing onto his goggles and pumping into his earphones. In the lingo, this imaginary place is known as the Metaverse. Hiro spends a lot of time in the Metaverse. It beats the shit out of the U-Stor-It.

To give you a sense of the sheer volume of unprocessed information that comes up the spinal cord into the thalamus, let’s consider just one aspect: vision, since many of our memories are encoded this way. There are roughly 130 million cells in the eye’s retina, called cones and rods; they process and record 100 million bits of information from the landscape at any time. This vast amount of data is then collected and sent down the optic nerve, which transports 9 million bits of information per second, and on to the thalamus. From there, the information reaches the occipital lobe, at the very back of the brain. This visual cortex, in turn, begins the arduous process of analyzing this mountain of data. The visual cortex consists of several patches at the back of the brain, each of which is designed for a specific task. They are labeled V1 to V8. Remarkably, the area called V1 is like a screen; it actually creates a pattern on the back of your brain very similar in shape and form to the original image. This image bears a striking resemblance to the original, except that the very center of your eye, the fovea, occupies a much larger area in V1 (since the fovea has the highest concentration of neurons). The image cast on V1 is therefore not a perfect replica of the landscape but is distorted, with the central region of the image taking up most of the space. Besides V1, other areas of the occipital lobe process different aspects of the image, including: •  Stereo vision. These neurons compare the images coming in from each eye. This is done in area V2. •  Distance. These neurons calculate the distance to an object, using shadows and other information from both eyes. This is done in area V3. •  Colors are processed in area V4. •  Motion. Different circuits can pick out different classes of motion, including straight-line, spiral, and expanding motion. This is done in area V5. More than thirty different neural circuits involved with vision have been identified, but there are probably many more. From the occipital lobe, the information is sent to the prefrontal cortex, where you finally “see” the image and form your short-term memory. The information is then sent to the hippocampus, which processes it and stores it for up to twenty-four hours. The memory is then chopped up and scattered among the various cortices. The point here is that vision, which we think happens effortlessly, requires billions of neurons firing in sequence, transmitting millions of bits of information per second. And remember that we have signals from five sense organs, plus emotions associated with each image. All this information is processed by the hippocampus to create a simple memory of an image. At present, no machine can match the sophistication of this process, so replicating it presents an enormous challenge for scientists who want to create an artificial hippocampus for the human brain.

TWO YEARS AGO I FOUND AN IMAGE OF A KID WITH HER HANDS COVERING HER FACE. A SEATBELT REACHED ACROSS HER TORSO, RIDING UP HER NECK AND A MOP OF BLONDE HAIR STAYED SWEPT, FOR THE MOMENT, BEHIND HER EARS. HER EYES SEEMED CLEAR AND CALM BUT NOT BLANK, THE ROAD BEHIND HER SEEMED THE SAME, I PUT MYSELF IN HER SEAT THEN I PLAYED IT ALL OUT IN MY HEAD. THE CLAUSTROPHOBIA HITS AS THE SEATBELT TIGHTENS, PREVENTING ME FROM EVEN LEANING FORWARD IN MY SEAT, THE PRESSING ON INTERNAL ORGANS. I LEAN BACK AND FORWARD TO RELEASE IT, THEN BACKWARDS AND FORWARD AGAIN. THERE IT IS I GOT FREE. HOW MUCH OF MY LIFE HAS HAPPENED INSIDE OF A CAR? I WONDER IF THE ODDS ARE THAT I'LL DIE IN ONE, KNOCK ON WOOD-GRAIN. SHOULDN'T SPEAK LIKE THAT. WE LIVE IN CARS IN SOME CITIES, COMMUTING ACROSS SPACE EITHER FOR OUR LIVELIHOOD, OR DEVOURING FOSSIL FUELS FOR JOY. IT'S CLOSE TO AS MUCH TIME AS WE SPEND IN OUR BEDS, MORE FOR SOME. THE FIRST TIME I DID SHROOMS, MY MANAGER HAD TO COME RESCUE ME FROM CALTECH'S 'TRIP DAY. AS I GOT INTO HER CAR, I SWEAR TO GOD THE ALUMINUM CENTER CONSOLE IN HER PORSCHE TRUCK LOOKED LIKE IT WAS BREATHING, LIKE THE THROAT OF SOMETHING. ON THE FREEWAY, LEAVING PASADENA, WE SPOKE AND I LOOKED AWAY, OUTSIDE, AT THE WHEELS AND TIRES OF CARS DOING THAT OPTICAL ILLUSION THING THEY DO WHERE IT LOOKS LIKE THEY'RE SPINNING BACKWARDS, WHICH, ACCORDING TO GOOGLE, HAPPENS BECAUSE OUR BRAINS ARE ASSUMING SOMETHING COMPLETELY WRONG AND SHOWING IT TO US. STARING, I WAS TRANSFIXED BY ALL THE INDICATOR LIGHTS OSCILLATING AND THROBBING AGAINST THE WIND. WE DROVE THRU DOWNTOWN LA HEADED WEST, FLYING ON THE SAME FREEWAYS I USED TO RUN OUTTA GAS ON. WELCOMED IN BY THE PERENNIAL CREATURES, IMPERIAL PALM TREES AND CLIMBING VINES LIVING THEIR LIVES OUT JUST OFF THE SHOULDER. THE FEELING OF FAMILIAR ENHANCED, ON THE 10. I USED TO RIDE AROUND IN MY SINEWY CROSSOVER SUV, SMOKE AND LISTEN TO ROUGH MIXES OF MY OLD SHIT BEFORE IT CAME OUT, OR WHATEVER SOMEONE WANTED TO PLAY WHEN THEY HOOKED UP THEIR IPHONE TO THE AUX CORD A FEW YEARS AND A FEW DAILY-DRIVERS LATER I'M NOT DRIVING MUCH ANYMORE, IT'S BEEN A YEAR SINCE I MOVED TO LONDON, AT THE TIME OF WRITING THIS, AND THERE'S NO PRACTICAL REASON TO DRIVE IN THIS CITY. I ORDERED A GT3 RS AND IT'LL KEEP LOW MILES OUT HERE BUT I GUESS IT'S GOOD TO HAVE IN CASE OF EMERGENCY :) RAF SIMONS ONCE TOLD ME IT WAS CLICHE, MY WHOLE CAR OBSESSION MAYBE IT LINKS TO A DEEP SUBCONSCIOUS STRAIGHT BOY FANTASY. CONSCIOUSLY THOUGH, I DON'T WANT STRAIGHT A LITTLE BENT IS GOOD. I FOUND IT ROMANTIC, SOMETIMES, EDITING THIS PROJECT. THE WHOLE TIME I FELT AS THOUGH I WAS IN THE PRESENCE OF A $16M MCLAREN F1 ARMED WITH A DISPOSABLE CAMERA. MY MEMORIES ARE IN THESE PAGES, PLACES CLOSEBY AND LONG ASS-NUMBING FLIGHTS AWAY. CRUISING THE SUBURBS OF TOKYO IN RWB PORSCHES. THROWING PARTIES AROUND ENGLAND AND MOBBING FREEWAYS IN FOUR PROJECT M3S THAT I BUILT WITH SOME FRIENDS. GOING TO MISSISSIPPI AND PLAYING IN THE MUD WITH AMPHIBIOUS QUADS. STREET-CASTING MODELS AT A RANDOM KUNG FU DOJO OUT IN SENEGAL. COMMISSIONING LIFE-SIZE TOY BOXES FOR THE FUCK OF IT SHOOTING A MUSIC VIDEO FOR FUN WITH TYRONE LEBON, THE GENIUS GIANT. TAKING A BREAK-SLASH-RECONNAISSANCE MISSION TO TULUM, MEXICO, ENJOYING SOME STAR VISIBILITY FOR A CHANGE. RECORDING IN TOKYO, NYC, MIAMI, LA, LONDON, PARIS. STOPPING IN BERLIN TO WITNESS BERGHAIN FOR MYSELF, TRADING JEWELS AND SOAKING IN PARABLES WITH THE MANY-HEADED BRANDON AKA BASEDGOD IN CONVERSATION, I WROTE A STORY IN THE MIDDLE-IT'S CALLED 'GODSPEED', IT'S BASICALLY A REIMAGINED PART OF MY BOYHOOD. BOYS DO CRY, BUT I DON'T THINK I SHED A TEAR FOR A GOOD CHUNK OF MY TEENAGE YEARS. IT'S SURPRISINGLY MY FAVORITE PART OF LIFE SO FAR. SURPRISING, TO ME, BECAUSE THE CURRENT PHASE IS WHAT I WAS ASKING THE COSMOS FOR WHEN I WAS A KID. MAYBE THAT PART HAD IT'S ROUGH STRETCHES TOO, BUT IN MY REARVIEW MIRROR IT'S GETTING SMALL ENOUGH TO CONVINCE MYSELF IT WAS ALL GOOD. AND REALLY THOUGH... IT'S STILL ALL GOOD.

The truth is that contentment is an inside job. So is authenticity. Validation doesn't come from magazines, blogs, Facebook feeds, or even your best friends. It doesn't come from looking like you have it all together online. It's easy to spend our time trying to manufacture the visuals of contentment, or longing for the images of happiness that permeate social media. It's harder, but more rewarding, to dig into our own lives to do the work... ...That's what raging against the minivan has come to mean to me. It's the quiet rebellion against obsessing over the optics and outcomes of motherhood...

The place of the study of communication in the history of science is neither trivial, fortuitous, nor new. Even before Newton such problems were current in physics, especially in the work of Fermat, Huygens, and Leibnitz, each of whom shared an interest in physics whose focus was not mechanics but optics, the communication of visual images.

Thinking about the projector as a performance tool, a display mechanism, a playback machine, a decompressor of content, an image-enlarger, a sound amplifier, a recording device, and an audiovisual interface carries far richer interpretive possibilities than thinking about it as the poor cousin of the movie theater. It also helps us to explain more about why film has long mattered across many realms of cultural and institutional activity. Critically shifting how we conceptualize what a projector is and does opens a window to a wider array of other media devices that performed the work of storing, decompressing, and yielding content, as well as interfacing with users, viewers, and analysts. Drawing on innovations in precision mechanics, chemistry, optics, and electrical and eventually acoustic and magnetic engineering, projectors catalyzed alternate ways of presenting recorded images and sounds, converting celluloid and its otherwise indecipherable inscriptions into visible and audible content, usable data, productive lessons, and persuasive messaging. In doing so they shaped performance and presentation for audiences of

Divorcing her wouldn’t work. He couldn’t handle the girls on his own, and it would be bad for his image, especially right before a big campaign. He’d just have to put up with her and pray she got cancer, which aside from getting rid of her would be great for optics.

Churchill was obsessed with popular opinion and what we nowadays call “optics”. Image was everything and on his long path of self-promotion, no publicity stunt was to be missed. He often got it wrong.

This hinted at something that no one had ever suspected -- that the brain tracks moving things more easily that still things. We have a built-in bias toward detecting action. Why? Because it's probably more critical for animals to spot moving things (predators, prey, falling trees) than static things, which can wait. In fact, our vision is so biased toward movement that we don't technically see stationary objects at all. To see something stationary, our brains have to scribble our eyes subtly over its surface. Experiments have even proven that if you artificially stabilize an image on the retina with a combination of special contact lenses and microelectronics, the image will vanish.

Both magnetic and optical storage formats—videotape, digital discs, and drives—decay much faster than commercial film stock. Despite living in the cloud, there is no heaven for digital data. And in fifty years, even if our CDs, DVDs, flash drives, and YouTube accounts retain their contents, which is unlikely, there will be no devices or software with which to read them. Skip even one generation of technological change and the precious photos, videos, or letters on the floppy disks in the closet become inaccessible or illegible.

Cortical maps are dynamic, and can change as circumstances alter. Many of us have experienced this, getting a new pair of glasses or a new hearing aid. At first the new glasses or hearing aids seem intolerable, distorting - but within days or hours, our brain adapts to them, and we can make full use of our new new optically or acoustically improved senses. It is similar with the brain's mapping of the body image, which adapts quite rapidly if there are changes in the sensory input or the use of the body.

In contrast to Kuhn, Galison in his classic work Image and Logic, published in 1997, describes the history of particle physics as a history of tools rather than ideas. According to Image and Logic, the progress of science is tool-driven. The tools of particle physics are of two kinds, optical and electronic. The optical tools are devices such as cloud chambers, bubble chambers, and photographic emulsions, which display particle interactions visually by means of images. The images record the tracks of particles. An experienced experimenter can see at once from the image when a particle is doing something unexpected. Optical tools are more likely to lead to discoveries that are qualitatively new. On the other hand, electronic tools are better for answering quantitative questions. Electronic detectors such as the Geiger counters that measure radioactivity in the cellars of old houses are based on logic. They are programmed to ask simple questions each time they detect a particle, and to record whether the answers to the questions are yes or no. They can detect particle collisions as at rates of millions per second, sort them into yes's and no's, and count the number that answered yes and the number that answered no. The history of particle physics may be divided into two periods, the earlier period ending about 1980 when optical detectors and images were dominant, and the later period when electronic detectors and logic were dominant. Before the transition, science advanced by making qualitative discoveries of new particles and new relationships between particles. After the transition, with the zoo of known particles more or less complete, the science advanced by measuring their interactions with greater and greater precision. In both periods, before and after the transition, tools were the driving force of progress.

The sexual map we acquire in youth includes body image, masturbatory guilt, sexual preferences and more. From what turns us on to what turns us off. From attitudes about menstruation to the right of women to wear certain clothing. But using this guilt- and shame-ridden map as a guide to sexuality is like using a map of an ancient city sewer system to locate the fiber optic network. What if the only map we had of a city was made 2,000 years ago? How useful would it be today? My city was an open prairie 2,000 years ago with no roads and maybe a few animal paths. A map of that reality would be of little use today.

Like Wheeler and Feynman, Cramer proposed that the wavefunction of a particle moving forward in time is just one of two relevant waves determining its behavior. The retarded wave in Cramer’s theory is complemented by a response wave that travels specifically from the particle’s destination, in temporal retrograde. In his theory, a measurement, or an interaction, amounts to a kind of “handshake agreement” between the forward-in-time and backward-in-time influences.13 This handshake can extend across enormous lengths of time, if we consider what happens when we view the sky at night. As Cramer writes: When we stand in the dark and look at a star a hundred light years away, not only have the retarded waves from the star been traveling for a hundred years to reach our eyes, but the advanced waves generated by absorption processes within our eyes have reached a hundred years into the past, completing the transaction that permitted the star to shine in our direction.14 Cramer may not have been aware of it, but his poetic invocation of the spacetime greeting of the eye and a distant star, and the transactional process that would be involved in seeing, was actually a staple of medieval and early Renaissance optics. Before the ray theory of light emerged in the 1600s, it was believed that a visual image was formed when rays projecting out from the eye interacted with those coming into it. It goes to show that everything, even old physics, comes back in style if you wait long enough—and it is another reason not to laugh too hard, or with too much self-assurance, at hand-waving that seems absurd from one’s own limited historical or scientific standpoint. In short: Cramer’s and Aharonov’s theories both imply a backward causal influence from the photon’s destination. The destination of the photon “already knows” it is going to receive the photon, and this is what enables it to behave with the appropriate politeness. Note that neither of these theories have anything to do with billiard balls moving in reverse, a mirror of causation in which particles somehow fly through spacetime and interact in temporal retrograde. That had been the idea at the basis of Gerald Feinberg’s hypothesized tachyons, particles that travel faster than light and thus backward in time. It inspired a lot of creative thinking about the possibilities of precognition and other forms of ESP in the early 1970s (and especially inspired the science-fiction writer Philip K. Dick), but we can now safely set aside that clunky and unworkable line of thinking as “vulgar retrocausation.” No trace of tachyons has turned up in any particle accelerator, and they don’t make sense anyway. What we are talking about here instead is an inflection of ordinary particles’ observable behavior by something ordinarily unobservable: measurements—that is, interactions—that lie ahead in those particles’ future histories. Nothing is “moving” backwards in time—and really, nothing is “moving” forwards in time either. A particle’s twists and turns as it stretches across time simply contain information about both its past and its future.

The eye allows us to see and interpret the shapes, colors, and dimensions of objects by processing light. Light enters the eye first through the clear cornea and then through the circular opening in the iris called the pupil. Next the light is converged by the crystalline lens. The light progresses through the gelatinous vitreous humor to a clear focus on the retina, the central area of which is the macula. In the retina, light impulses are changed into electrical signals and sent along the optic nerve to the occipital (posterior) lobe of the brain, which interprets these electrical signals as visual images.

From prehistoric cave paintings to the map of the London Underground, images, diagrams and charts have long been at the heart of human storytelling. The reason why is simple: our brains are wired for visuals. ‘Seeing comes before words. The child looks and recognises before it speaks,’ wrote the media theorist John Berger in the opening lines of his 1972 classic, Ways of Seeing[1]. Neuroscience has since confirmed the dominant role of visualisation in human cognition. Half of the nerve fibres in our brains are linked to vision and, when our eyes are open, vision accounts for two thirds of the electrical activity in the brain. It takes just 150 milliseconds for the brain to recognise and image and a mere 100 milliseconds more to attach a meaning to it[2]. Although we have blind spots in both of our eyes – where the optic nerve attaches to the retina – the brain deftly steps in to create the seamless illusion of a whole[3]. As a result, we are born pattern-spotters, seeing faces in clouds, ghosts in the shadows, and mythical beasts in the starts. And we learn best when there are pictures to look at. As the visual literacy expert Lynell Burmark explains, ‘unless our words, concepts and ideas are hooked onto an image, they will go in one ear, sail through the brain, and go out the other ear. Words are processed by our short-term memory where we can only retain about seven bits of information…Images, on the other hand, go directly into long-term memory where they are indelibly etched[4]. With far-fewer pen strokes, and without the weight of technical language, images have immediacy – and when text and image send conflicting messages, it is the visual messages that most often wins[5]. So the old adage turns out to be true: a picture really is worth a thousand words.

Neuroscience has since confirmed the dominant role of visualisation in human cognition. Half of the nerve fibres in our brains are linked to our vision and, when our eyes are open, vision accounts for two-thirds of the electrical activity in the brain. It takes just 150 milliseconds for the brain to recognise an image and a mere 100 milliseconds more to attach a meaning to it.24 Although we have blind spots in both of our eyes—where the optic nerve attaches to the retina—the brain deftly steps in to create the seamless illusion of a whole.

From the outside all seemed in order; closer examination revealed chaos. Cleanliness and order were the colony's first concern. But imagine a house in which the people and the food are freezing. Imagine a cow which is maintained like a rifle, but whose fodder is twelve versts away in a field. Imagine that the woods had been burned down and that new roofing or building material had to be bought in Porkhovo then you begin to have an idea of state economics.

With the advent of nanotechnology, microfabrication has produced novel manmade constructs called metamaterials which exhibit entirely new properties in terms of their effect on light, effects which are not found in conventional materials, or even in nature itself. Early in the 21st century, a chance observation showed that an ultrathin layer of silver on a flat sheet of glass would act like a lens, and from this point, the development of the ‘perfect’ or ‘superlens’ began, with the theoretical possibility to image details such as viruses in living cells with a light microscope, bypassing Abbe’s diffraction limit. Metamaterials have been produced that make this possible, as they have a property previously unimagined in optics, and not found in nature, which is a negative refractive index.

His (Benjamin's) dialectical image, like the stereoscopic image, is not part of the phenomenal world, but an image that is activated by present readers gazing upon the past. Again, it is not something that is directly perceptible (not reproducible), but only emerges in the imaginative interaction between reader and text.

Despite our persistent understanding of photographs as "copies of scenes, that is, as images of the past, Flusser argues, they are actually visualisations that concretize images out of myriad possibilities, and in this way, they direct the future.

Repression works like the refraction of light as it passes from one lens (or psychic system) to another, thus distorting the image perceived in the mind's eye.

What causes the collapse of the wave function? It is the entry of stimuli into the sensory apparatus of a conscious observer, such as photons of the right wave length hitting the human eye and entering the eye through a lens which focuses the light on to the retina. The retina then sends a signal to the brain via the optic nerve and the brain turns the information into the images we see. Those images and information from the other senses constitute the human sensory world. Clearly the images and other information could not exist without observation. Nothing else in the human sensory world exists without an observation being made, so why should the results of experiments, indicating the presence of quantum entities, which show in macro level experimental apparatus be any different?

But what about mankind’s physical body? How did God conjure up the physical features of a human being? Friend, He patterned us after himself!!! “And God said, Let US make man…after our likeness” (Genesis 1:26). The original Hebrew word translated “likeness” is “demût”, meaning: likeness, figure, image, form. In a nutshell, we were fashioned to look like God! Thus, the physical concept of a human being having legs to walk, arms to hold, torso to twist, eyes to see, mouth to taste, nose to smell, and ears to hear was not the product of millions of years of random, evolutionary chance: It was God making us “like Him”! It is insanity to believe mindless spontaneity created the physical features of a human being, yet macro-evolutionary theory proposes such a ridiculous idea. Scientists, if you want to know where the ear and the eye came from, study the Scriptures: “Understand, ye brutish among the people: and ye fools, when will you be wise? He (God) that planted the ear, shall he not hear? He (God) that formed the eye, shall he not see?” (Psalms 94:8, 9). Scientists are still trying to understand “light”, for it is an extremely complex phenomenon, having the properties of both waves and particles. Yet, macro-evolutionists want us to believe good-old random “nothingness” knew exactly what light is, designing an eye to “capture it”, optic

Oh you my Life No brains are a match for the heart the heart always wins you come to me and you dance around me without a touch your hips swinging gently like a flad of love in a gentle breeze your eyes drink the beauty in my eyes and everything in them and the air is filled with the scent of scattered rose petals I love your company I love your presence you do not belong to me, yet you choose to come to me while all your admirers are on their knees with devotion and promises and holy love I have willed you, I have called you because my soul desires your soul to be close to me it is just spiritual, it is just desire to be close I do not pretend to understand I know life works in mysterious ways Oh you my life my beautiful mirage My beautiful optical illusion This is how I love you Your eyes dwell and slumber closed You sleep like an angel in my soul No distance can keep us apart No flower so beautiful that we do not share in our heart The mask we wear as if in a carnival To protect this love of ours Your body a temple you call me to visit Your mind is a garden of imagination That you pain in romantic images of us Your soul a drinking well of life for me You give so unselfishly you heal and purify Our union of love in the deserts of life We become perfect in our moment While we thirst for more in life What is it that we are looking And when doubt invades the oceans of our minds Fear aloneness and hopelessness become real We long to be held we long to feel secure We long to be told we are loved Within this journey of life You can lie to the world But you cannot ever lie to your heart The heart has a language only another heart understands While your mind is in constant battle with thoughts Your soul becomes calm when you witness A single red rose within your hands reach Under the distant rainbow circle And all your fears and concerns fade and vanish your body sways gently as your hands clasp together Rise gently towards the sky in glory and charm Love, my luscious love, my heavenly love How you come and go How you appear and disappear In the course of your lif,e we are love Your golden body painted by the sun longs desire and craves only love You my love, you are love You are what humanity craves above all You are the only hope The only blessings that is richer then all

Oh you my Life No brains are a match for the heart the heart always wins you come to me and you dance around me without a touch your hips swinging gently like a flad of love in a gentle breeze your eyes drink the beauty in my eyes and everything in them and the air is filled with the scent of scattered rose petals I love your company I love your presence you do not belong to me, yet you choose to come to me while all your admirers are on their knees with devotion and promises and holy love I have willed you, I have called you because my soul desires your soul to be close to me it is just spiritual, it is just desire to be close I do not pretend to understand I know life works in mysterious ways Oh you my life my beautiful mirage My beautiful optical illusion This is how I love you Your eyes dwell and slumber closed You sleep like an angel in my soul No distance can keep us apart No flower so beautiful that we do not share in our heart The mask we wear as if in a carnival To protect this love of ours Your body a temple you call me to visit Your mind is a garden of imagination That you pain in romantic images of us Your soul a drinking well of life for me You give so unselfishly you heal and purify Our union of love in the deserts of life We become perfect in our moment While we thirst for more in life What is it that we are looking And when doubt invades the oceans of our minds Fear aloneness and hopelessness become real We long to be held we long to feel secure We long to be told we are loved Within this journey of life You can lie to the world But you cannot ever lie to your heart The heart has a language only another heart understands While your mind is in constant battle with thoughts Your soul becomes calm when you witness A single red rose within your hands reach Under the distant rainbow circle And all your fears and concerns fade and vanish your body sways gently as your hands clasp together Rise gently towards the sky in glory and charm Love, my luscious love, my heavenly love How you come and go How you appear and disappear In the course of your life, we are love Your golden body painted by the sun longs desire and crave only love You my love, you are love You are what humanity craves above all You are the only hope The only blessing that is richer than all

The scene was odd; barely perceptible faces surrounded the little girl, like malevolent succubae. The more Lucie’s eye became acclimated, the more details she made out. Small feet shoved into socks; matching outfits, like hospital pajamas; a uniform floor that looked like linoleum. A parallel, latent world slowly took shape. Lucie thought of optical illusions—the image of a vase, for instance, that turns into a couple making love after you’ve stared at it for a moment. In the drop-down menu, Beckers selected the brightness and contrast option and opened a dialogue box on which he could play with the settings.

The screen is encroaching on the eye, from TVs to computer monitors to phone screens to smart watches to VR goggles to tiny LEDs that project images onto the retina to neural implants that communicate directly with the optic nerve.

The moment they appeared on the scene, the first optical devices (Al-Hasan ibn al-Haitam aka Alhazen's camera obscura in the tenth century, Roger Bacon's instruments in the thirteenth, the increasing number of visual prostheses, lenses, astronomic telescopes and so on from the Renaissance on) profoundly altered the contexts in which mental images were topographically stored and retrieved, the impera- tive to re-present oneself, the imaging of the imagination which was such a great help in mathematics according to Descartes and which he considered a veritable part of the body, veram partem corporis. Just when we were apparently procuring the means to see further and better the unseen of the universe, we were about to lose what little power had of imagining it. The telescope, that epitome of the visual prosthesis, projected an image of a world beyond our reach and thus another way of moving about in the world, the logistics of perception inaugurating an unknown conveyance of sight that produced a tele- scoping of near and far, a phenomenon of acceleration obliterating our experience of distances and dimensions.

David Hockney, among other historians and advocates of the Hockney–Falco thesis, has speculated that Vermeer used a camera obscura to achieve precise positioning in his compositions, and this view seems to be supported by certain light and perspective effects. The often-discussed sparkling pearly highlights in Vermeer’s paintings have been linked to this possible use of a camera obscura, the primitive lens of which would produce halation. Exaggerated perspective can be seen in Lady at the Virginals with a Gentleman (London, Royal Collection). Vermeer’s interest in optics is also attested in this work by the accurately observed mirror reflection above the lady at the virginals. However, the extent of Vermeer’s dependence upon the camera obscura is disputed by historians. There is no historical evidence. The detailed inventory of the artist’s belongings drawn up after his death does not include a camera obscura or any similar device. Scientific evidence is limited to inference. Philip Steadman has found six Vermeer paintings that are precisely the right size if they were inside a camera obscura where the back wall of his studio was where the images were projected.

Back in 1956, they had one-way broadcast radio communications for voice and limited black and white video that were limited by transmission power and two-way communications either by line of sight radio or copper wires. The best speed of communications for the next seventy-five years was the speed of light by radio, laser, or fiber optic. Even after sending probes to Jupiter and Saturn it would take more than a day for a single still image to be received on Earth. Today, we have the Ansible, utilizing applied quantum entanglement; providing near-instantaneous communication at bandwidth and distances that back then only science fiction authors dreamed of achieving.

Could you explain to us what the tarot really is? The tarot is a metaphysical machine. An organism of images and forms that is very difficult to summarize, one of humanity’s first optical languages.

Photo apparatuses are based on equations of mechanics, chemistry and optics. However, the carrier of historical consciousness is the linear code of the alphabet rather than the code of numbers. In the numeric code, an unhistorical, calculating, formal consciousness articulates itself. It is meaningless to say that one and one if four at around six o'clock. Consequently, photographs are post historical images, not only because they stand in the way of the stream of history like dams, but also because their generation depends on unhistorical, post historical, which is to say calculating, formal thought.

I suspect that many readers find it hard to believe that what they are seeing right now is not simply what is ‘there’. I can imagine you asking: ‘Where else does my perception of these words on the page come from?’ It might help if I point out that what you are seeing right now bears little resemblance to the sensory inputs you are receiving. Those inputs start out as light waves impacting on your retinae. The photosensitive cells there (called rods and cones) respond to the light waves by generating nerve impulses. These impulses – not the light waves themselves – are then propagated along your optic nerves to the cortex, in the form of spike trains (see Figure 11). Why do you experience these trains – 001111101101 – as moving images out there in the world?

Coraline Whittaker is a mystery to this town. To me. She is a mirage, a naturally occurring optical phenomenon that bends light rays to produce the image of a girl who is a familiar face but is unknown beneath the surface.

God cannot change over time as he would then be dependent upon the relation between some unrealized potentiality within himself and some fuller actuality somehow ‘beyond’ himself into which he may yet evolve; he would then be a conditional being. He also must possess no limitations of any kind, intrinsic or extrinsic, that would exclude anything real from him. Nothing that exists can be incompatible with the power of being that he is, as all comes from him, and this means that he must transcend all those limits that alienate and exclude finite realities from one another, but in such a manner that he can embrace those finite realities in a more eminent way without contradiction. Again, a classic image of this simplicity is that of white light, which contains the full chromatic range of the optical spectrum, but in a ‘more eminent’ simplicity.

【V信83113305】：The Institute of Optics Graduate School, known as Institut d'Optique Graduate School, is a premier French institution dedicated to optics and photonics. Founded in 1917, it has established itself as a global leader in both theoretical research and practical applications of light science. The school offers elite engineering programs and cutting-edge research in fields such as quantum optics, imaging, nanophotonics, and laser technologies. With strong ties to industry and a focus on innovation, it plays a crucial role in advancing technology for sectors like telecommunications, healthcare, and defense. Its alumni and researchers consistently contribute to groundbreaking scientific developments, reinforcing France's position at the forefront of optical science and engineering.，高仿原版光学理论与应用学院毕业证IOGS毕业证书外壳offer制作, 快速办理IOGS毕业证-光学理论与应用学院毕业证书-百分百放心, 一比一定制-IOGS毕业证光学理论与应用学院学位证书, 本地法国硕士文凭证书原版定制IOGS本科毕业证书, 加急多少钱办理IOGS毕业证-光学理论与应用学院毕业证书, 一比一原版IOGS光学理论与应用学院毕业证购买, 正版光学理论与应用学院学历证书学位证书成绩单, IOGS毕业证办理多少钱又安全, 原版光学理论与应用学院毕业证办理流程

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【V信83113305】：The Institute of Optics Graduate School, known as Institut d'Optique or SupOptique, is a premier French grande école dedicated to optics and photonics. Founded in 1917, it is renowned for its exceptional training of engineers and scientists, cutting-edge research, and strong ties to industry. The school addresses both fundamental theoretical challenges and high-impact applications, ranging from quantum technologies and nanophotonics to advanced imaging systems and optical instrumentation. With campuses in Paris, Bordeaux, and Saint-Étienne, it fosters a vibrant ecosystem of innovation and entrepreneurship. Its graduates are highly sought after, making it a pivotal institution that continues to shape the future of optical science and technology globally.，专业办理Institut d'Optique Théorique et Appliquée光学理论与应用学院成绩单高质学位证书服务, Institut d'Optique Théorique et Appliquéediploma安全可靠购买Institut d'Optique Théorique et Appliquée毕业证, 法国大学文凭购买, 办理IOGS大学毕业证光学理论与应用学院, 修改IOGS光学理论与应用学院成绩单电子版gpa让学历更出色, IOGS光学理论与应用学院毕业证成绩单原版定制, 光学理论与应用学院毕业证最快且放心办理渠道, 办理IOGS文凭, 光学理论与应用学院毕业证制作

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【V信83113305】：The French School of Optics, with its prestigious institution Institut d'Optique Graduate School, stands as a global beacon in optical science and engineering. Founded in 1920, it has cultivated a unique ecosystem intertwining cutting-edge academic research with high-tech industrial innovation. Its curriculum masterfully blends fundamental physics—from photonics to quantum optics—with practical applications in fields like imaging, nanotechnologies, and augmented reality. The school is renowned for producing engineers and researchers who become leaders in both industry and academia worldwide. Through its close partnerships with major research organizations and corporations, it consistently drives progress, solidifying France's historic and continued dominance in the science of light.，购买光学学院毕业证, 光学学院原版购买, 挂科办理Institut d'Optique Graduate School光学学院学历学位证, 光学学院文凭Institut d'Optique Graduate School, 修改IOGS光学学院成绩单电子版gpa实现您的学业目标, IOGS假学历, 办理IOGS光学学院成绩单高质量保密的个性化服务, IOGS文凭办理, 光学学院成绩单制作

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【V信83113305】：France's prestigious optical institutes, like the Institut d'Optique Graduate School, are global epicenters for photonics and optical science. They offer a unique blend of rigorous theoretical education and hands-on engineering, shaping the world's top experts in fields from quantum optics to imaging. Their research, often conducted with industry giants like Essilor or Thales, drives innovation in telecommunications, healthcare, and aerospace. These institutions are not just schools; they are vital hubs where fundamental research meets industrial application, maintaining France's historic leadership in light-based technologies and continuously pushing the boundaries of what is possible with light.，IOGS文凭办理, 法国毕业证认证, 法国大学文凭购买, 加急光学学院毕业证IOGS毕业证书办理多少钱, 原版IOGS光学学院毕业证最佳办理流程, 网上制作IOGS毕业证-光学学院毕业证书-留信学历认证放心渠道, 光学学院毕业证最稳最快办理方式, 光学学院毕业证学校原版一样吗, IOGS光学学院毕业证最简单办理流程

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【V信83113305】：France is renowned for its prestigious optical institutes, which are at the forefront of photonics, optics, and vision science. Among the most notable is the Institut d'Optique Graduate School (IOGS), founded in 1917, a leading institution in optical engineering and research. It collaborates closely with industry giants like Essilor and Thales, driving innovations in lenses, lasers, and imaging technologies. Another key player is the Laboratoire Charles Fabry, affiliated with the Paris-Saclay University, specializing in quantum optics and nanophotonics. These institutions attract global talent, offering cutting-edge programs and fostering breakthroughs in fields such as augmented reality, telecommunications, and medical imaging. France's optical schools blend rigorous academia with practical applications, solidifying the country's reputation as a hub for optical excellence. Their contributions continue to shape the future of light-based technologies worldwide.，Institut d'Optique Graduate School光学学院学位证书快速办理, 办理法国毕业证, 修改IOGS光学学院成绩单电子版gpa让学历更出色, 法国大学毕业证定制, 留学生买毕业证IOGS毕业证文凭成绩单办理, 出售IOGS光学学院研究生学历文凭, 留学生买毕业证Institut d'Optique Graduate School毕业证文凭成绩单办理, 定制IOGS毕业证, 办理真实Institut d'Optique Graduate School毕业证成绩单留信网认证

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【V信83113305】：Tokyo Polytechnic University, a distinguished private institution in Japan, has carved a unique niche at the intersection of art, science, and technology. Founded in 1923 with a focus on photography, its legacy is deeply rooted in the visual arts. Today, it excels in nurturing creative professionals for the modern digital age. The university's strengths lie in its specialized departments, particularly its renowned Faculty of Arts, which offers programs in photography, imaging, manga, animation, and game design. Complementing this, its Faculty of Engineering provides a robust foundation in applied physics, computer science, and chemistry, supporting cutting-edge research in fields like nanotechnology and optics. This powerful synergy between artistic creativity and scientific innovation makes it a premier destination for students aiming to become pioneers in the media and technology industries.，定做东京工艺大学毕业证東京工芸大学毕业证书毕业证, Tokyo Polytechnic University东京工艺大学学位证书快速办理, 挂科办理Tokyo Polytechnic University东京工艺大学毕业证本科学位证书, 安全办理-东京工艺大学文凭東京工芸大学毕业证学历认证, 网络办理東京工芸大学东京工艺大学毕业证官方成绩单学历认证, 東京工芸大学毕业证最简单办理流程, 网上补办東京工芸大学东京工艺大学毕业证成绩单多少钱, 日本Tokyo Polytechnic University毕业证仪式感|购买东京工艺大学学位证, 東京工芸大学毕业证成绩单办理东京工艺大学毕业证书官方正版

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【V信83113305】：The Institute of Optics Graduate School, known as Institut d'Optique or SupOptique, is a premier French grande école dedicated to the science and application of light. Founded in 1917, it is a pivotal institution in the global optics, photonics, and imaging landscape. The school excels in training highly specialized engineers and cutting-edge researchers, seamlessly blending a rigorous theoretical curriculum with hands-on experimental work. Its research laboratories are at the forefront of innovation, making significant contributions to fields like quantum technologies, nanophotonics, biophotonics, and augmented reality. With campuses in Paris, Palaiseau, and Saint-Étienne, the institute maintains a unique synergy between academia and industry, fostering a dynamic ecosystem that transforms fundamental discoveries into groundbreaking technological applications.，定做光学理论与应用学院毕业证IOGS毕业证书毕业证, IOGS毕业证成绩单办理光学理论与应用学院毕业证书官方正版, 100%收到-IOGS毕业证书光学理论与应用学院毕业证, 办光学理论与应用学院毕业证Institut d'Optique Théorique et Appliquée-Diploma, 办理法国-IOGS毕业证书光学理论与应用学院毕业证, IOGS毕业证成绩单学历认证最安全办理方式, Institut d'Optique Théorique et Appliquée学位证书办理打开职业机遇之门, 法国硕士毕业证, offer光学理论与应用学院在读证明

【V信83113305】：France's prestigious optical institutes, such as the Institut d'Optique Graduate School, are global epicenters for photonics and optical science. For over a century, these *grandes écoles* have fused rigorous theoretical education with cutting-edge applied research, training elite engineers and scientists. Their work is foundational to countless modern technologies, from advanced microscopy and medical imaging to high-speed telecommunications and quantum computing. Collaborating closely with industry leaders and CNRS research labs, these institutions drive innovation, pushing the boundaries of light-matter interaction. They are not merely schools but powerful engines of technological progress, cementing France's enduring legacy as a world leader in optics and shaping the future of how we see and manipulate light.，办理光学学院毕业证成绩单办理, IOGS毕业证定制, 网上制作IOGS毕业证-光学学院毕业证书-留信学历认证放心渠道, 网上购买假学历IOGS光学学院毕业证书, 666办理IOGS光学学院毕业证最佳渠道, IOGS光学学院毕业证制作代办流程, 办理IOGS光学学院毕业证文凭, 100%加急制作-IOGS毕业证学校原版一样, 光学学院文凭Institut d'Optique Graduate School

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