Flat Earthers Beware

The world is not flat, but scholars of pseudo-cosmography cling to the belief in a 2D Earth like Seven-Day Adventists' hope for the 2nd Coming of their Messiah.

As early as 150BC Greeks divined the world was round through mathematics.

Western historians claim that ancient societies espoused flat-worldism, however the center of the cult was Kabbalishers in Europe, where the skies were too dark to witness the rotation of the planet.

Tibet and Egypt revered astrologers, however truth-seekers were burned at the stake in Europe.

Galileo Galilei suffered a life sentence of house arrest under the pedo-Vatican. Math was scorned. Telescopes were considered sacrilege. Knowledge was taboo. In death his desiccated middle finger promotes his regard on the Holy Roman Church's understanding on the universe.

Everyone gets an A in Calculus.

As long as they love God.

Personally I would rather hang with tramp Barbies than extoll the existence of a flat earth.

I have flown in Space over the northern pole

I have seen the the curvature of the earth.

I've circumnavigated the planet ten times.

The world is not flat, but it seems that way when you hit the surface.

Unless it's in the snow.

Snow is soft to a fallen man.

Even in a round world society.

Leap Into The Charles

My nephew treaded water in the Charles River.

Twenty feet beneath me.

Standing on the railroad bridge jumping is not meaningless.

Not jumping is meaningless.

My nephew shouts from the river, "Jump. It's a good thing."

Matt was right and I jump off the bridge.

And I fall like a stone through the air without ever reaching maximum speed.

I pass through twenty feet of air in a heart beat.

Splash.

Meaninglessness is good and the Charles River is warm on a sunny day.

Leap Into The Charles

Back in the 2000s my nephew and I toured the bogs and kettle ponds of Natick, Mass. The day was breathlessly hot and Matt suggested that we jump off the train bridge over the Charles. It was a short drive away and the two of us walked through the woods to the trestle bridge. The tracks were about twenty feet from the river surface.

"How deep is the water?" I liked the depth to be over my head.

"Plenty deep. I'll go first to show you." Matt was a fearless teenager. He stripped to his shorts and sneakers. Climbing up the river banks was hard going in bare feet. Matt ran off the bridge with a scream. He plunged into the water and re-emerged with a smile.

"Now you."

He was right, even though 50 year old men shouldn't jump off anything higher than a stair.

I leapt into the air and dropped into the river. The water was refreshing, but I was more enthused by the jump.

"You want to try it again?"

"Why not?"

Nothing like jumping off bridges in the summertime.

Especially in your 50s.