Fuzzballs: A Softer, Fuzzier Way to Destroy the Space-Time Continuum

yet another bar joke

Contrary to popular opinion, a neutrino is a subatomic particle, not a jocular Italian nickname.

I distinctly remember when I did the math as a small child:  black holes are formed from the gravitational collapse of a dying star + the Sun is a star = FUCK.  Thankfully the book I’d read that in anticipated this, so the visions of Earth being devoured by cold blackness only lasted like maybe one second.  Later I’d discover less dramatic but more relevant astronomical terrors, such as the myriad asteroids that narrowly miss smashing into Earth every now and then, but nothing would ever arouse that same sense of dread and futility that a black hole’s gravitational pull could evoke.  It would at least be somewhat feasible to deflect or destroy an incoming asteroid, of course.  Difficult, yes.  Plus we’d probably fuck it up and some poor hapless physicist would briefly be the most hated man in the world until we all died.  Still doable though.

A black hole is another matter entirely, however.  It has an infinitely intense gravity emanating from a zero dimensional, zero volume core; the human mind can’t even truly comprehend its nature in any way beyond the abstract.  Even light – completely massless and literally the fastest thing in existence – can’t escape it.  As you might know, gravity acts upon an object’s mass, so the fact that a black hole can ensnare light is one of those holy fuck kind of things.  There’s also something vaguely poetic, even spiritual, about the only sources of light in the universe collapsing into themselves and becoming a dark and ravening void that is literally impossible to see because light can never reach you from it.  It’s like in death stars begin to steal back the light they once freely gave.  Of course, not all stars become black holes, only really big ones, so that pretty much ruins my romantic rendition of it.  Thanks science.  Either way, though, contemplating black holes is some pretty (infinitely) heavy shit.

There’s a problem in those infinities, though.  The zeroes too.  Nevermind the fact that black holes are by their nature literally impossible to see; nevermind the fact that beyond a bunch of mindbending math and the observation of the effects of their immense gravity that there’s no evidence that they exist (to the point where Hawking relates that it’s as though the universe actively “censors” any singularity so that they can never be directly witnessed), it’s those zeroes and sidelong eights.  They’ve both come up before in prior physics models, and traditionally they’ve always indicated a gap in knowledge.  When those gaps are filled, the infinities and zeroes go away.  Perhaps I’m just a gigantic nerd, but I find that profoundly disappointing.  Then again, physicists can be a bit of a killjoy; when they all but confirmed the existence of Higg’s boson a little while back, Stephen Hawking publicly stated that he was kind of disappointed and was hoping something really weird and unexpected would have happened instead.  Not that my feelings about the implausibility of current black hole theory is much different; I appreciated the mystery of an invisible, zero dimensional, zero volume non-object hiding out in space and inexorably drawing even galaxies toward them.  Yes, the possibility exists that black holes so powerful that they can pull entire galaxies is quite likely.  They just (probably) work in a much more mundane way than is presented now.  Besides, if regular black holes worried me a little back in my childhood, I’m actually pretty glad I wasn’t aware of the existence of supermassive black holes until much later.

All this talk of zero dimensionality and volume might make you think the term size is irrelevant here, and you’d be right:  it’s that the singularity isn’t what gives them their “size”, but rather the event horizon, which is the furthest point from the center that light begins to be unable to escape its gravity.  It’s referred to as an event horizon because of a model in physics called a light cone.  It’s complex, and I’ll just hit the points relevant to the event horizon.  A light cone is a model that takes a point in space and depicts the spread of light from that point.  Sounds simple; it’s not, but for our purposes here it’s not so bad.  Recall that light is the fastest thing in existence, so literally anything that happens at our reference point cannot ever leave the light cone because it would have to outrun light.  Thusly, relative to anything outside the light cone, no events that occur at our reference point exist in any way because our fastest way to perceive them would be light hitting our eyes, and we’re outside the light cone, so it hasn’t reached us to carry the witness of those events to us.  Now light can’t escape the event horizon, meaning for all intents and purposes, things that take place within it are basically happening in a entirely different reality that we will never directly see, hence the term horizon; they can’t cross it anymore than we can cross earthly horizons, because they just move as you approach them.  Even if this wasn’t true, light is the only perceptual medium available in outer space.  We certainly can’t touch or taste, say, Jupiter.  There’s no air to carry sound or smell.  This is what makes black holes so interesting:  light normally reigns over the universe like a fleet yet iron-fisted Minister of Propaganda/dictator, yet black holes are able to overpower and restrain it.  And if this is half as fascinating to you as it is to me, go read Hawking’s A Brief History of Time right now.  This is the least of light’s seemingly magical and supernatural quirks.

And before you militant internet atheists have a psychotic break:  I said seemingly.  Calm down.  There are a variety of relaxation techniques just a Google search away.

Another brief aside:  much like the Higg’s boson, there is another hypothesized particle that is thought to be the force carrier of the otherwise mysterious force known as gravity, which is termed the graviton.  Scientists have long had ideas on how to eventually detect and confirm the existence of both, but unlike Higg’s Goddamn particle, physicists also deem it potentially impossible that we’ll ever actually “see” a graviton.  Of course, these people are capable of making such educated guesses that they routinely confirm their stabs in the dark to be nearly perfectly accurate, but this does mean we may never fully understand gravity works, or that if we do, we’ll never have confirmation of it.  To give you some perspective, it’s thought that a graviton detector the size of Jupiter operating at 100% efficiency would detect one (1) graviton every 10 years.  Couple this uncertainty with the fact that gravity seems to be the only thing that can reach out past an event horizon, and can do so powerfully, and you’re looking at a pretty cryptic force of nature right there, as well as another rebel against light’s unrelenting tyranny.

So whatever, this is all bullshit, right?  You just want your sons and daughters to grow up and invent flying cars and pills that instantly cure cancer and all that whatnot, and in the meantime it’d be nice if they didn’t keep you up all night crying about how Earth will be swallowed up into an unknowable void, right?  It’s a dilemma seemingly without an answer…until now.

Frustrated parents of the world, I give you the fuzzball, the infinity-free and far more soothing answer to particle theory’s black hole, brought to you courtesy of the renegade of physics: string theory.  The fuzzball has all of the black hole’s godlike power to bat around solar systems like a gigantic bored cat, a pleasing kid-friendly name and no troublesome mathematical anomalies whatsoever.  What’s more, the math concerning fuzzballs calculates event horizons at a value very close to the Schwarzschild Radius, which gives you the event horizon of a non-rotating black hole, so there’s “concrete” evidence that string theorists may be onto something with this.  Just tell your children that instead of the horrific and incomprehensible mutilation of space and time that occurs within the event horizon of a black hole, being pulled into a fuzzball takes you to a place full of puppies that you can pet forever and ever, and that’s why it’s called a fuzzball.  They won’t know, the little idiots.

yo momma

You can’t even understand his Your Momma jokes.

I’ll not try to explain fuzzballs like I did black holes for two reasons:  firstly, they pretty much match up uncannily with the characteristics of black holes, and secondly, I am fairly convinced that string theory is only for psychotically brilliant geniuses who are losing touch with their humanity/sanity because they are on the verge of transcending their disgusting meat bodies and becoming pure energy.  Really, don’t even try.  You know why they call them d-branes?  It stands for dumb-branes because string theory itself is calling you stupid.  You know why they misspell the word brain?  Because fuck you, that’s why.  It’s the same for p-branes as well.  I’ll let your pea-sized monkey minds work that one out.

So anyway, the fuzzball:  helping your kids to realize the immense scope of the universe and thusly our futile and worthless place within it as well as ensuring that they don’t have all those goddamn nightmares about it since 2002.  I mean come on, it’s just a wittle fuzzball!  Don’t you just want to pet it?  Go on, it’s okay!  Who’s my wittle devourer of light and space and time??  You are!  Yes, you!  Look, he likes it when you pet his wittle ears!

D’awww.

At least until you realize it won’t afford you even the slight mercy of ripping off what was once your hand before it distends its very form and the spacetime it once occupied into a gory atrocity of meaninglessness before your soon-to-burst eyes, which will spare you from witnessing the blasphemous perversion of light and time itself in the grip of the mighty fuzzball, in which hope cannot exist.

And by the way, I write these little science essays as much to help myself understand the concepts as much as I do to make people laugh; at no point am I trying to actually teach people anything, I entirely lack the expertise for it.  That said, take from my work what you will, knowing it’s the work of an utter layman.

EDIT:  Changed the title to match up with Freshly Pressed; it’s not mine, but I wish it were.  Thanks again, Michelle, for that and FP.  I’m truly grateful.  Thanks also to everyone who’s taken the time to comment and recommend books and give me so many other blogs to check out.  Today’s been crazy, but I’ll take the time too as soon as I can find some.

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Dear WordPress:

Please stop changing the statuses of my posts from Draft/Pending Review to Published.  Nobody needs to see that.  I am aware that it’s partly my fault due to my login habits, or lack thereof, and that the auto-logout seems to make your client act a bit funny, but there is no need to expose your readers to the liminal and maddening void that lies sleeping just beneath reality itself, one day to awaken and devour space and star and man.  On that incomprehensible day, no amount of begging, no prostration, no benediction will preserve our sanity from the horror of even the merest stirrings of those vast and tenebrous things that exist beyond form, for whom our highest gods are beneath notice, but until then we should probably just chill and try not to think about it too much.

It’s a good thing nobody actually reads this, and that this is only a motivator to finish writing the things I start, because this way I don’t have to explain those duplicated paragraphs to anyone who saw them.  I will, though:  I am incredibly, psychotically picky about the wordings with which I say things, and commonly write paragraphs multiple times to see which one I like best.  I firmly believe that with the proper wording, a reader could be moved to tears by a description of how to make pancakes.  It’s probably an unrealistic standard to hold oneself to, but when you get right down to it, it’s not actually all that important to actually meet that standard at all.  The thing is to keep improving toward it, to never think “okay, this is as good as I wanted to be, now I’ll just maintain.”

A thing is only an amalgamation of circumstance, and circumstance alway changes.  Time always moves forward.  The you that began to read this isn’t the you that just read this line, and it’ll be another you still that reads my last sentence.  You are constantly being created and destroyed in every moment.  Maintenance, then, as well as anything that appears to neither proceed or degrade, is just a trick of perception.  It’s a pretty word for stagnation.

And you know, I don’t even like Lovecraft that much.  Or rather I like his ideas far more than the way in which he wrote about them.  Huh.

Misanthropy Fuel

Allow me now to share my early morning aneurysm with you fine people.

Aww. It’s so cute when I pretend that I have readers like that.

My brother just brought my attention to an article on Gawker, and Christ I wish he hadn’t. No, I won’t source the article: am I writing a term paper for college here? No.

No, I am not.

Anyway, in this article, the results of a poll conducted among upper middle class people were reported. Said poll inquired how much income some of these families were bringing in, and then it asked whether or not they felt “poor”. Did you ever think someone who brings in three quarter of a million dollars a year could feel poor? WHY YES THEY CAN, ACTUALLY. “So, so poor,” actually. Allow me now to bring your attention to those little marks before the first ‘So’ and after the word ‘poor’? That means it’s a quote. That means it’s their own words.

THEIR OWN MOTHERFUCKING WORDS. THEIR. OWN. WORDS. I don’t mean to treat my readers as stupid by getting this point across with a blunt object to the head, but the idea that a person bringing in such an income could be mistaken as to their own prosperity, that a full grown and university educated adult could not know what poor actually means, that they would be so ignorant as to declare it publically…all of this requires that I relay this to you with as much clarity as possible, else it would seem like hyperbole on my part rather than on theirs. That would be the natural conclusion, wouldn’t it? Nobody could be that ignorant, right?

Ah, but one of them anticipated that us in the unwashed masses would react with a confused mix of disbelief, mirth and rage, and so they kindly broke down their monthly income for us: you see, when you take a closer look, you’ll clearly see that they’re really only making a measly $11k a month, and that after expenses against that $11k, there’s only a paltry $4k or so left as disposable income. What’s more, they referred to us naysayers as “haters”, effectively rendering their breakdown of their finances into a mathematical variant of the white trash standard: “YOU DON’T KNOW ME!!!”

See, the problem lies in the fact that their woeful inability to buy a new private island every month doesn’t exactly get at my heartstrings, being that their disposable income per month is more than double my ENTIRE income in a month. That is, on its face, blatantly, nakedly NOT poverty. It isn’t. How they feel is immaterial, this is nothing to do with emotion; there has been delineated both by formal government legislation and informal societal consensus a state known as poverty. There are qualifiers to said state, and anyone lacking those qualifiers does not live in said state. That’s it. And no, absurd senses of entitlement are not a qualifier.

It’s a classic case of rationalization: despite what they say, they don’t feel “poor”. They think they do, but they do not. So what is it? Well, it’s that they know people – a boss, a neighbor, a relative, perhaps – that make significantly more money than them, and being shallow and materialistic, they are consumed by jealousy and feelings of inferiority because those guys own twelve summer houses on four continents while they must content themselves with only having three on two. In short, they feel GREEDY, not poor. Absurd senses of entitlement are not a qualifier.

This paragraph is a late edit, as this just came to me a minute ago, but there’s also a pervasive and widespread victim mentality involved here.  Their sentiment, honestly expressed, would be:  yes, I am so cash that my blue blood has turned green, but I’d sure like some more money.  It wasn’t honestly expressed, however.  They are objectively not poor, and yet they claimed they felt this way.  Your loving author/father figure has labored in a Herculean fashion through the embolisms and broken monitors and cognitive dissonance and discovered that in this case, what they mean by “poor” is more like “poor me”.

Remember how I said how my gross monthly income is less than their net? Now, do you want to ask me if I myself feel poor? I mean, I must, right? Here, I’ll do it for you:

Hey, do you feel poor? I mean, you don’t drive a Rolls, your apartment isn’t carpeted with the soft, pliant skin of slain Union workers, and hell, I bet you never, ever have enough money to afford that new high-end champagne that’s made from the blood of Southeastern Asian slave girlboys who turned 18 and were rendered useless to their clients! It’s quite piquant. Why, if I couldn’t afford it, I’d be quite vexed. Could you imagine? Quelle embarras! Je cacher sous un rock*!

No, I don’t feel poor. That guy who rides up and down my street on a bicycle that asks me for change now and then and clearly has nowhere to lay his head? That guy’s poor. Yes. That guy’s poor, and we need to rise up and kill our upper middle classes with fucking nuclear winter Wrath of God fucking globally cataclysmic apocalype hellfire, apparently.

But really, what does this say about our society? Maybe I’m wrong, but it seems from where I’m at that a person laboring under such unfathomable ignorance and greed and selfishness is literally and objectively useless on any level deeper than the superficial. Such a person cannot be a good spouse. Such a person cannot be a good parent, citizen or friend. It’s not possible. They have absolutely no perspective on themselves as people, nor their place in society, and likewise they entirely lack an appreciation of their good fortune; it may actually be literally impossible to be more ungrateful. Everything such a person does comes from a state of thorough selfishness and delusion, and thus everything they do, everything that comes from them, is tainted from the start. What passes for their love is surely conditional and subservient to not being defied or put out by its object. The wisdom they pass onto their children is the worst, deepest, most pernicious kind of lie: the kind that comes from such blindness to reality that it’s mistaken as truth. Ultimately, a person so lacking in any kind of knowledge of themselves cannot offer anything to anyone, because they cannot know themselves at all, much less what they might have to offer.

There is, basically, no feasible way that such people can do anything but make the worlds they move in worse and worse, eventually dying and leaving nothing behind but damage that they literally are incapable of taking responsibility for. Their children will come up even worse, too. They, like their parents, will mistake “respectability” for good, greed for need, and they will forever be ungrateful for the security they take for granted and that so many others will never know in their lifetimes.

The Hindus believe that humanity is now living through the Kali Yuga, the end of their cyclical model of time, as well as its darkest point. During this Yuga, the world’s depravity and perversity grows and grows until it collapses on itself, leveling the field for the subsequent golden age that will replace it. From my understanding – which is admittedly not perfect, I am not an expert by any stretch of that word, much as these people are not poor – they meant exactly this. That’s not to say I’m vouching for the absolute truth of the existence of the Yugas, but reading shit like this does kind of make you wish it were true, if only because it would mean this idiocy is on a clock.

That’s a good point to close on: these people, at least to me, are so repugnant, so degenerated, so deeply and irretrievably wrong-headed that it actually seems like we do need some sort of apocalypse to fix it. What else could suffice? Once we as a people are this far gone, nothing’s left but to swipe all the pieces from the board in a fit of godly outrage, go back into monkey mode for a while, and start the fuck over.

And okay, I relent.  Here’s the source.

Please take note of Gawker’s use of the phrase ‘class rage’. No other response to this essay or their article is appropriate. Coming as I do from such a background that even making a quarter million a year rather than the three quarter reported above would be thoroughly life-changing down to the very core of my being, Gawker’s excellent article rendered me pretty much blind with it.

Sorry for ruining your day. Thank you for reading.

*:  A study that I and a friend of mine read a few years ago (the source of which is long lost) found that actual rich people, like reeeeeally rich people, don’t act like this.  Actual rich people, in their habits and ideas, have much more in common with the working class, and it’s only milquetoast douchebag upper middle class wannabe rich people that model their social behavior on Thurston and Eunice “Lovey” Howell.  It makes a lot of sense when you consider how essential utilitarianism is to both lifestyles.  Think about it:  while you spent three hours in the wine aisle googling wine on your iPhone to find the perfect bottle of merlot for your swank dinner party because you think somebody in a movie once said merlot is really good, Steve Jobs was building a sprawling dungeon in China in order to make as many of his employees commit suicide as possible.  Would you do that?  No, you would not, you’d fall back onto your fainting couch and opine on how terrible that is.  In fact, once your feeble, quailing heart had recovered, you’d twitter from your iPhone about how terrible it is, congenitally oblivious to irony as you are.  As you can see, there’s a lot to say on this, and it deserves its own essay eventually.

Peter Higgs r smrt

Since yesterday’s announcement of the pretty-much-discovery of Higg’s boson, I have read roughly thirty thousand million billion incomplete and badly written attempts to explain to people what Higg’s boson actually is, so I’m here to show you people how to fucking do this.  I mean really, most of you just went “They discovered Higg’s boson!  Watch this Youtube video to see what it is cuz I have no fucking idea!”  Youtube appreciates your ignorance, but nobody else does.

Here we go:  all matter is made up of tiny little bits called molecules.  Molecules are composed of atoms, which can combine in different combinations to make all kinds of shit.  Don’t worry about it, though; the molecules that make up, say, your arm are probably insanely complex and have ridiculous numbers of kinds of atoms and whatnot in them, so really, just leave it.  Atoms in turn are composed of a proton/neutron nucleus which is orbited by electrons; these electrons hop to nearby atoms and are what binds molecules together, else all that would exist are elements.  Certainly you wouldn’t have arms.  Or even be a you.  Protons and neutrons are in turn composed of elementary particles, which are in turn composed of nothing; they are the basic units of literally everything, ever.  Oh, and electrons are also elementary particles.  You’ve heard of elementary particles, surely:  quarks and bosons and so forth.

That’s all well and good, but it leaves a few glaring problems.  For one, the spaces between molecules/atoms/elementary particles are much, much bigger than the molecules/atoms/elementary particles themselves; science cannot concretely explain why your fist doesn’t pass through a person’s face when you punch them.  For two, particles in and of themselves have no mass.  Without mass, gravity cannot work, so this means science cannot concretely explain why you cannot fly.  Well, more accurately, science can’t explain why you don’t aimlessly and helplessly float through some amorphous and insubstantial hellscape out of a Lovecraft story.

Clearly, something was missing from our understanding.  People get punched in the face every day, and if we were living in an amorphous and insubstantial hellscape, it would seldom be debated.  So one fine day in bonny old Europe, a bright gentleman named Peter Higgs theorized that there must be some thing that imbued mass upon all these crazyass particles so that gravity could work on them and they would become substantial, rather than bouncing around reeeeeally fast like light does.

That thing wasn’t easy to find, either.  It’s popularly known as the God Particle, and the man who coined that phrase, Leon Lederman, Director Emeritus of Fermi, said he only called it the God Particle because his publisher wouldn’t let him call it the Goddamn Particle.  According to him, that’s a far more appropriate name, and I’ll explain why.

Our much feted boson existed for (seriously) something like a millionth of a billionth of a billionth of a second at around a billionth of a second after the Big Bang banged.  At this point the universe didn’t even come close to resembling anything a layperson could possibly conceive of as reality.  It was formless, churning and really, like, unimaginably hot and composed of particles that mostly don’t even exist anymore.  Matter and antimatter, most likely still raw and elemental and shapeless, were poised to entirely annihilate each other; nobody quite knows why they didn’t.  By our current understanding, us and everything else shouldn’t exist.  Congrats, everything you know and love is a massive, unexplained fluke.  Somehow matter won out over antimatter, and we narrowly avoided living in a strange bizarro universe comprised entirely of goateed evil twins lamenting the annihilation of their goody-two shoes counterparts, forever doomed to wonder what the point of taking over the world even fucking is now.  It’s science.

These conditions, as you might imagine, are hard to replicate, as is detecting the boson within these conditions.  In fact, only the signs of its presence and the particular particles it breaks down into can be detected, which means the ten billion dollar Large Hadron Collider must burn up ungodly amounts of electricity over and over and over again to smash those hadrons together and the data must be analyzed each time to look for the places where Higg’s boson was, and to rule out any possibility of it having been some other particle of a similar size and that decays the same way.  Ten billion dollars, 17 miles of ring-magneted tunnel, hundreds of the best scientists on Earth (half of whom are trying to convince idiots that they’re not going to spawn a black hole and wipe out mankind) and it’s still this hard.  Goddamn Particle indeed.

Still, this boson is the source of every last bit of matter there is.  It pretty much created gravity, or at least made it meaningful.  It is the only reason anything besides a Lovecraftian hellscape can exist.  In a manner of speaking, it created the universe, at least in the sense that it in conjunction with the graviton gave it its staggeringly complex and precise structure and the matter of which said structure is composed, which in turn created conditions in which life could be possible.  So really, maybe the God Particle isn’t such a bad appellation after all.

Bear in mind, this is kind of a jokey piece by a layman.  Scientific rigor was not even attempted, and in fact was amiably mocked.  If I got anything outright wrong, though, I’d love to hear it.