Breaker One-Nine

Dan Jira

12/20/2016

Shout out to bad editing due to writing at 3 AM, and the existential crisis that helped this idea become a reality.

“Breaker one-nine, anybody on coms?” Jon jerked upright in his chair as the receiver crackled its way through the message. He’d been driving through this empty desert wasteland of northern New Mexico for the past six hours, and the whole time that darned thing was completely silent. He didn’t mind the quiet though, driving this time of night was peaceful to him, barely any traffic, (not that the three other vehicles he saw during the day shifts counted as traffic along this route…) and he could see the stars meet the hills of sand in the distance, which always made him think. Sure, it was hard some nights, being this alone, sometimes it was downright terrifying, but those nights were few and far between.

 “Breaker one-nine, I repeat anybody on coms?” the receiver crackled again as Jon reached for the radio. “This is Night Hawk, receiving you loud and clear.” Before he was even able to put his hand back on the steering wheel, the receiver came alive again, however, this time it was a set of numerous rapid tones a multitude of different pitches, each one slightly different than the last, but not resembling a melody or scale. After the tones finished, there was  30 seconds of silence in which Jon wasn’t sure if he should pursue the conversation, or just leave it alone. As he was still deciding, the radio came back to life “Night Hawk, do you have a navigational computer on board?” Slightly perplexed, Jon responded with “Well yeah, the GPS, why?” Even though he had driven this route what felt like a million times, Jon always had the GPS on, the monotone female voice keeping him company through his journeys.

“Hm, strange I can’t seem to locate its signal. Alright, I guess I’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way. What is your orbit level Night Hawk?”

“My what?”

“Your orbit level.” Said the crackling voice, somewhat annoyed that he was asked to clarify himself.

At this point, Jon had determined that it was some kid playing with an old radio he found at a thrift shop, and he decided to play along, besides, it is not like he had anything better to do. Jon pushed the button on the transmitter and said, “Well, I’m on I-40 just west of Edgewood, so I guess I’m at orbit level 40.”

“Orbit level 40? There are only 5 orbit levels around a planet of this size. If you could stop playing games with me, Night Hawk, that would be…” At this point, a metallic sounding voice, not entirely unlike the voice of Jon’s GPS, but somehow different due to the crackling of the receiver, cut in and said: Captain, it appears that we have entered an uncharted system. Under Federation Regulation five-zero-zero-four-point-six-point-seven-b (5004.6.7b), we are not allowed to make contact with any alien life forms unless they have achieved faster than light propulsion. Would you like me to make the calculations for the jump back to the stargate? There was a moment of silence before the other voice returned to the receiver saying rather sullenly, “Night Hawk, what do you call this system?”

“The solar system?” Jon asked the voice.

“Yes, what do you call it?”

Jon thought for a moment, trying to think of something better to call the solar system than The Solar System, but that’s all he could think of. “We call it the Solar System.”

“How about the Sol System?”

“That works, and the planet is called Earth by the way.”

“Very well, goodbye Night Hawk of the system Sol, and of the planet Earth. Computer, jump.”

And just like the at the usual droning of static from the receiver carried on throughout the night.

≡ ≡ ≡ ≡ ≡ ≡

For years to come, two different stories were told in bars across the Southern United States, and the Milky Way Galaxy, one a story from a trucker named Jon who told a tale of the most elaborate prank by a couple of kids that he’s ever heard over the airwaves of CB radio. And the other a story of how an explorer got his name in the Holomap Index by finding a new star system, and communicating with one of the life forms to find out the name of the planet, and although he doesn’t know it, how the young captain came to christen his ship the Night Hawk.

Reading Challenges

This year, I have decided to take my free time, and make something of it by doing something I love, reading. So, I have signed up for a few reading challenges!

1. Back to Classics 2017
2. Cloak and Dagger 2017
3. 2017 Distopia Reading Challenge
4. 2017 Steampunk Reading Challenge

I do not know how well this will go over as the next two semesters of school are pretty jam packed for us Engineering Majors, but we'll see!

A Trio of Haikus

Dan Jira - 12/5/2016

And yet, here we are,
E'er so close, but no cigar.
Not near, not too far.

How you look at him,
Is how I look at you too;
If only you'd see.

A man, gentle yet
So shrouded in mystery,
Stole her thoughts, and heart.

The Cold

Dan Jira - 11/24/2016

There are different types of the cold.

Theres the cold that gives you a slight chill,

As you walk around in a hoodie,

The type that makes you look around,

And admire the torrent of leaves

As they swirl all around you.

Theres the cold that nips at your nose,

As you wish that you had listened

To the weatherman as he said

“Bring a heavier jacket out today.”

But your pride got in the way.

Theres the cold that sends shivers down your spine,

As you sit on the couch,

Under a blanket, and shiver

At the phantom chill that had just befallen you,

As you look uneasily around the room.

Theres the cold that gives you a reminder,

Winter is here, go inside,

Enjoy all that the television has to offer,

Snuggle up next to someone,

And share your gift of warmth.

Sand

Dan Jira - 9/8/2016

Three weeks ago,

I picked you up,

My handful of sand.

And like a delighted child,

I brought it everywhere,

Showing off

My handful of sand.

For the two weeks,

We were together,

We knew from the beginning,

That it would never last.

But I never thought

That it would be so soon.

I carried it around

For as long as I could,

Until I brought it to the water,

And the currents washed away

My handful of sand.

When the long weekend ended,

And I saw you again,

I smiled,

But you didn’t look at me

Like you did the weeks before.

And when I brought it up,

The river of life had caught up,

Between prior commitments,

Classes and their work,

It had washed you away too.

And just like when I was a child,

I wade in the river,

Kneeling, and searching

For my handful of sand.

As I Look to the Sky...

Dan Jira - 8/28/2016

As I look up to the sky to the South,

I can see the rapid flashes in the clouds,

The threat of a storm that will never arrive.

As I look up to the sky to the North,

I can see the stars peeking down from the cosmos,

The threat of dreams that will be left unseen.

As I look up to the sky to the West,

I can see the fading sunset,

The threat of days yet to come.

As I look up to the sky to the East,

I can see the lights of the city,

The threat of the coming morning stifling the inhabitants.

But when i look down and immediately to my left,

Even in the dark, I can see your freckled nose,

And the threat of words left unsaid.

Some More Numbers

So I was playing a game the other night, and in this game, there was a mechanic where you could sell things, in groups of 1, 2, 5, or 10. And well, this got me thinking. And after a while, I got distracted and completely forgot about what I was thinking about. However, when I went to bed that night, and as I was laying there, I remembered, and thought about it some more. This is what I came up with.

5 is actually an even number. Not in the mathematical sense of even numbers, no, in that way it is most definitely an odd number. However, in the sense of perception, I perceive 5 to be an even number. (My logic for this is not sound in any terms, however, everyone I have conferred with about this has tended to agree.) When you look at an even number, they look smooth, and just pleasant to look at. When you look at an odd number, you see them as brash, with corners and hard edges whereas even number do not have these visual characteristics. Sure, my whole argument may be based on the aesthetics of the numbers themselves, but I do believe that it is a valid point. (And no, I am not going to argue that an upside-down 5 is a 2.) 

Because of this, I have a proposition. Instead of changing the classification of 5 from an odd to an even number, because it does not work in terms of mathematics, I humbly suggest that we classify it as we do the letter "y." The letter "y" has a constant identity crisis and does not know whether or not it is a vowel or a consonant. Because of this, and phonetics, it can be both because it has properties of both. Just like the 5 has the mathematical properties of being an odd number, but the aesthetic property of the even numbers.

Numbers

Previously, I have written a poem about the thoughts that keep me awake at night. It is the poem titled "Deafened." In this poem, I briefly describe some of the loudest things of a particular day, and how they are all brash and cacophonous, but yet the loudest part of the day is in the silence when my thoughts are keeping me awake. Well, I decided to listen to these thoughts last night, and after watching this video by Vsauce, I had a thought.

In this video, Michael tells us about the Banach - Tarski Paradox, and how that there are an infinite number of numbers. And that how there is something called "countable infinity", which is the number of integers because you could technically count forever, and something called "uncountable infinity" which is the amount of real numbers between two integers, such as 0 and 1. Michael goes into it way deeper than I ever could, and because of this I suggest watching the video before continuing on with this.

My thought is this. There are only 10 numbers, 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9. Every number past nine is just a sequence of the original ten numbers. However, this also lets the strings of sequences of numbers be infinite in length. At the same time, I believe that all of the real numbers between integers are configured in the same pattern as the infinite sequences of numbers.

I realize that this may not make sense, but remember, I am not a math major, and have no idea if this is actually already a theory or not. All I do know is that this is a thought which kept me awake last night, and that I am unable to put my thoughts into proper words. This is one of those things in which I will keep with me for a while until I am able to ask somebody who knows more than I do about it. On that note, anybody know of anyone with a PhD in math or theoretical math that would be willing to have a conversation?

Deafened

Dan Jira - 6/2016

As I go through the rituals of the day,

I hear the world.

Louder and louder,

As the clock ticks on.

The slow hum of morning,

Is gradually replaced

By the roar of noon.

But the droning roar of noon

Cannot compare

With the discordant cacophony

Of rush hour.

Then the clinking of glasses,

And the sounds from the kitchen,

And the scraping of forks,

All give way to the after dinner quiet.

As the sun sets,

The clouds roll in,

And the quiet evening

Gets quieter.

The howl of the wind is first,

And then the rapid fire of the rain,

And then the booms of thunder,

And the cracking of trees.

And then,

It stops.

All is quiet,

Nothing can be heard.

As I lay in my bed,

Revelling in this quiet,

I can finally hear my thoughts,

And listen to them.

But they scream,

And they wail,

And they won't leave me alone.

The silence is deafening.

Dear Phoebe

Dan Jira - 2/2015

It is as of this moment,

And unto another as of yet undecided

That you leave me here,

Standing,

Alone.

Letting me think.

The most dangerous thing

I have ever done to myself.

I look up from my thoughts,

And see before me,

The infinite winding spiral staircase

They call Love.

I stand here in the middle,

Knowing that even if I go up to bliss,

Or down into madness,

Eventually I will end up here again.

Time on Target

Dan Jira - 1/2015

There is only ever the present moment

Never is it the future

Nor is it ever the past.

Right now is all there ever is,

Tomorrow never comes

And yesterday is always gone.

Electric Snow

Dan Jira - 1/2015

Back in 2010 when TV went digital,

We were without a signal for 2 weeks until we bought a converter.

We would turn on the morning news out of habit to find that a blizzard

Had inhabited the television.

That electrical snow, accompanied by that awful noise is something

That barely any will forget.

The screen that looks like how your arm feels

When it falls asleep.

The screen that somehow makes you want a cup of hot tea,

And sit on the couch in a blanket.

As I write this five years later,

I am happy to say that I do not see this screen as nearly as often as I had.

However, I am still haunted by the electric snow,

From days on end to barely a total of an hour in a week,

I feel it.

The screen of nothingness.

The emptiness of something.

Waiting for something colorful to return,

Or to be turned off.

She Is...

Dan Jira - 8/2013

She is as gentle as a spring breeze, 

But as destructive as a tornado.

She is as beautiful as a rainbow 

After you sit through the storm.

She is as quiet as night,

But infinite like the universe.

She is as strong as ice,

But she will melt in your hand.

She is as wonderful as life,

But as mysterious as death.

The Girl Thought I Loved

Dan Jira - 9/2012

Back in grade school,

You were everything.

I thought of you during the loneliest,

Darkest hours of the night.

You were the one

That I admired from afar,

That made my grades slip

Because I was only paying attention to you.

For five years I suffered

Never telling anyone

Who mattered the most to me

You.

I never told you,

I never told my friends,

I never told anyone.

Yet here I am,

Confessing on a sheet of paper,

To the world,

On the internet

For everyone to see.

That you were the one,

The girl with the curly blonde hair,

And the light blue eyes.

The girl that broke her arm skiing,

And her leg trampoline-ing.

The girl that I asked to my first homecoming,

The girl that accepted my invitation,

And let me think that it would be mutual.

The girl that let me down.

The girl that wanted to go home with some other guy. 

The girl that I bought my first suit for,

And went to a classy restaurant for.

The girl I waited five years for.

You.

You are that girl.

The girl that taught me to be quiet.

The girl that taught me to forget.

The girl that taught me sadness.

The girl that taught me that I wasn't good enough.

And still,

I lay awake in bed,

Reminiscing when you were the girl with the curly blonde hair,

And the light blue eyes.

And I realize that you were not the cure,

But the poison.