The fighting between Israel and Gaza-based Palestinian militant groups, now in its 15th day, is so severe that it is visible from space. A German astronaut on the International Space Station named Alexander Gerst, who has been posting photos on his Twitter account, posted this on Wednesday, in which he says the explosions of Israeli air strikes and Palestinian rockets are visible:
The photo is oriented such that north is to the right and south to the left; that dark area at the top is the Mediterranean Sea and the brightest spot, on the coast, is Tel Aviv. To the left of Tel Aviv, just 44 miles to the south, is Gaza City, the largest city in Gaza and the location of a lot of the worst fighting.
The Imitation Game - Official Trailer - The Weinstein Company
In THE IMITATION GAME, Benedict Cumberbatch stars as Alan Turing, the genius British mathematician, logician, cryptologist and computer scientist who led the charge to crack the German Enigma Code that helped the Allies win WWII. Turing went on to assist with the development of computers at the University of Manchester after the war, but was prosecuted by the UK government in 1952 for homosexual acts which the country deemed illegal.
Fold a piece of paper in half 103 times, and its wider than the observable universe.
this is due to exponential growth; the increase in previous thickness is doubled each time you fold the piece of paper again. physically you could probably only fold a piece of paper about 7 - 8 times on your own.
Given a paper large enough—and enough energy—you can fold it as many times as you want. If you fold it 103 times, the thickness of your paper will be larger than the observable Universe; 93 billion light-years distance.
How can a 0.0039-inch-thick paper get to be as thick as the Universe?
The answer is simple: Exponential growth. The average paper thickness in 1/10th of a millimeter (0.0039 inches.) If you perfectly fold the paper in half, you will double its thickness.
Folding the paper in half a third time will get you about the thickness of a nail.
Seven folds will be about the thickness of a notebook of 128 pages.
10 folds and the paper will be about the width of a hand.
23 folds will get you to one kilometer—3,280 feet.
30 folds will get you to space. Your paper will be now 100 kilometers high.
Keep folding it. 42 folds will get you to the Moon. With 51 you will burn in the Sun.
Now fast forward to 81 folds and your paper will be 127,786 light-years, almost as thick as the Andromeda Galaxy, estimated at 141,000 light-years across.
90 folds will make your paper 130.8 million light-years across, bigger than the Virgo Supercluster, estimated at 110 million light-years. The Virgo Supercluster contains the Local Galactic Group—with Andromeda and our own Milky Way—and about 100 other galaxy groups.
And finally, at 103 folds, you will get outside of the observable Universe, which is estimated at 93 billion light-years in diameters.
Gaza, a poem
By Nisha Bolsey
I’m walking and a man says, “If the Palestinians would just love their children more than they hate their enemy, the violence would be over.”
If only they would love their children.
If only they had chosen the four corners
(so they would die)
or kept them in the middle
(so they would die).
If only they would have brought four-day old Noura back to life.
If only they would kiss their children’s dead mouths and breathe life into them.
If only they would raise their arms to the sun to block the bombs with the palms of their hands.
If only they would dry the rivers of blood in the streets and pour them back into the hearts of their daughters and sons.
Why don’t they?
Why can’t they just pull out their own lungs and stick them into their slaughtered children’s chests?
Why can’t they just sing, 24 hours a day, louder than thunder, to prevent their ears from hearing the sound of bombs?
If only they would love their children, and carry their bodies up into the air, above the siege, past the blockade, into freedom.
If the Al-Batsh boys’ parents had really loved them,
they wouldn’t have let their insides be wrenched apart by the bomb that fell.
They would use their hands to hold their limbs together so that they could stay in one piece.
If only they would stop the vibrations which create sound,
the sound which crashes and bleeds through their children’s ears.
If only they would stop all light from traveling, so that their children wouldn’t have to see their sisters, cousins, fathers, brothers.
Dead on the floor.
Their house turning to rubble.
Their family turning to dust.
Their family turning to nothing.
Their world disappearing.
And why doesn’t their love sustain their children more than food?
Heal the wounds from the weapons?
They had seconds to leave before the bombing began.
They should have thrown their children out the window,
knowing they would take flight
with the wings their love had created.
If only they loved Mohammed, Ahed, Zakaria and Mohammed
to rise above their soccer game and change
the magnetic forces of the Earth,
to pull away the bomb,
headed for the beach.