Ytcl Splatterpunk Utopia: In Defense of Violent Entertainment
Messier 83 is one of the closest spiral galaxies in the night sky, located just 12 million light-years from Earth. Its unique properties have earned it two of the more evocative galactic nicknames: the Southern Pinwheel and the Thousand-Ruby Galaxy. The first nickname isn ;t too difficult to explain as you might imagine, it located in the southern hemisphere, in the constellation of Hydra. Its spiral arms are particularly prominent, which lends it the appearance of a pinwheel, which is
stanley cup only emphasized by the presence of young, blue star clusters all along its arms. As for its other, even more striking nickname: Typically found near the edges of the thick dust lanes, a wealth of reddish star forming regions also suggest another popular moniker for M83, The Thousand-Ruby Galaxy. Dominated by light from older stars, the bright yel
stanley cup lowish core of M83 lies at the upper right. The core is also
stanley cup bright at x-ray energies that reveal a high concentration of neutron stars and black holes left from an intense burst of star formation. In fact, M83 is a member of a group of galaxies that includes active galaxy Centaurus A. The close-up field of view spans over 25,000 light-years at the estimated distance of M83. The Hubble Legacy Archive via NASA. Astronomyhubble telescopeNASAScienceSpace Sosh This video shows why two-dimensional wonder material graphene is about to change everything
io9 is proud to present fiction from Lightspeed Magazine. Once a month, we ;ll be featuring a story from Lightspeed current issue. Here our first selection, How Many Miles to Babylon by Megan Arkenberg. Enjoy! Art by Khitrets. How Many Miles to Babylon By Megan A
stanley us rkenberg And he cried out in a mighty voice: Fallen, fallen is Babylon the great! She had become a dwelling place for demons, a haunt for every unclean bird, a haunt for every unclean and hateful beast. 鈥擱evelation 18:2 The Goliath halogen died today. We hoped at first that it was only the battery, that if we changed it out and cursed and tapped it hard against our thighs we could get it flickering again, then shining steadily. We went through half our stock of batteries before we admitted that the light itself was shot. Fuck, I said. Fucking mother of a goddamn fuck. I was holding the battery case. I shook out the pack of double-As we had stuffed inside and flung the worthless chunk of plastic into the trees. David didn ;t say anything. He went around to the back of the truck and found a pair of xenon flashlights, thin and red, behind the box of canned soup. They ta
stanley becher ke half the batteries, but aren ;t a third
stanley termosar as bright as the Goliath. It getting harder and harder to pretend we aren ;t racing along the edge of a knife, one box of flashlights and a fistful of batteries away from the mercy of the things in the darkness. Beyond the