The Pilot is published in Soanyway magazine!
http://www.soanyway.org.uk/johnhyattM4SK.htm
Wednesday 14 December 2011
Tuesday 15 November 2011
Pilot selected for MachinExpo
My collaborator, Piloteer David Moss, entered our Pilot of Bee Patrol video/song "This is a time of alternative being" for the Machinima expo 2011 and it has been accepted, the details of the expo are on the blog here:
http://blog.machinima-expo.com/
It will be screened for a week before and a week after the actual event, during the event. We think it gets an audience screening in Second Life and also on their website, and then they have a vimeo playlist which it will also be screened after the event.
Nice one, David.
http://blog.machinima-expo.com/
It will be screened for a week before and a week after the actual event, during the event. We think it gets an audience screening in Second Life and also on their website, and then they have a vimeo playlist which it will also be screened after the event.
Nice one, David.
Friday 23 September 2011
Sunday 4 September 2011
The Pilot tours the Portuguese speaking world!
This film, This Thing About Gravity (my newest collaboration with M4SK 22) is featured on the quarterly classwar karaoke compilation and will be screened in the open air in Faro, Portugal (14th September) and also in Sao Paulo, Brazil, in October at the Cinematica Brasileira as part of the finale of the Rojo@Nova Arts festival.
Monday 29 August 2011
Piloteer Emrys Morgan finds a sign
Whilst experimenting with his new digital camera, Piloteer Emrys Morgan came across this sign, photographed it as evidence, and sent it in.
Wednesday 24 August 2011
Sunday 14 August 2011
Piloteer Martin Luther King agrees, "There is Only the Now!"
"Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable. We are faced now with the fact that tomorrow is today. We are confronted with the fierce urgency of now. In this unfolding conundrum of life and history there is such a thing as being too late…We may cry out desperately for time to pause in her passage, but time is deaf to every plea and rushes on. Over the bleached bones and jumbled residues of numerous civilizations are written the pathetic words: Too late.”
Martin Luther King Jr. ‘Where do we go from here: chaos or community’
Martin Luther King Jr. ‘Where do we go from here: chaos or community’
In the company of the Tin Man
Piloteer Emrys Morgan and myself went underground with the Tin Man, Geoff Treseder, in August in search of the tin to make more tin bee brooches for the Piloteers. I would call it a life changing experience, either crawling through a two foot space or a foot deep in water in the pitch blackness.
Here are some photos from the adventure. Imagine my surprise when the next day I saw the Tin Man walking out with Dorothy!
Saturday 13 August 2011
Beehaviour
Check out Piloteer Thomas D. Seeley's research:
"My analyses of collective decision-making by honey bee colonies indicate that a group will possess a high level of SI (Swarm Intelligence) if among the group’s members there is:
1) diversity of knowledge about the available options,
2) open and honest sharing of information about the options,
3) independence in the members’ evaluations of the options,
4) unbiased aggregation of the members’ opinions on the options, and
5) leadership that fosters but does not dominate the discussion."
See: http://www.nbb.cornell.edu/seeley.shtml
You can hear about bees dancing themselves into democratic consensus:
http://www.npr.org/blogs/krulwich/2011/05/24/136391522/natures-secret-why-honey-bees-are-better-politicians-than-humans?ps=cprs
John
"My analyses of collective decision-making by honey bee colonies indicate that a group will possess a high level of SI (Swarm Intelligence) if among the group’s members there is:
1) diversity of knowledge about the available options,
2) open and honest sharing of information about the options,
3) independence in the members’ evaluations of the options,
4) unbiased aggregation of the members’ opinions on the options, and
5) leadership that fosters but does not dominate the discussion."
See: http://www.nbb.cornell.edu/seeley.shtml
You can hear about bees dancing themselves into democratic consensus:
http://www.npr.org/blogs/krulwich/2011/05/24/136391522/natures-secret-why-honey-bees-are-better-politicians-than-humans?ps=cprs
John
Thursday 11 August 2011
The Pilot - a Commentary.
Piloteer Mike Hughes of Horsforth Modern Art gallery in Horsforth near Leeds has made an exciting new video addition to the Pilot of Bee Patrol oeuvre. Here is his movie, judge for yourselves. I am looking forward to a series of commentaries.
Saturday 30 July 2011
The Tin Man - Piloteer Geoff Treseder
Ever wondered where the Pilot's bee was from. Well, it is dug out of the earth of Cornwall and hand-made by Piloteer Geoff Treseder. Here is Geoff at his womb of tin bees workshop.
Saturday 23 July 2011
Piloteer Mike turns to video collage!
Piloteer Mike Hughes has made his own video collage of the Pilot's installation at Horsforth Modern Art. Nice one Mike!
Friday 22 July 2011
Pilot says, "Plant for Bees"
Can't seem to make this a hyperlink at the moment but...
http://ierossendale.ning.com/forum/topics/food-crops-for-bees
There is a really useful download offered here called
bbka_shrubs_for_bees_3-way_1306864579.pdf
for everyone who wants to make their garden friendly to bees.
http://ierossendale.ning.com/forum/topics/food-crops-for-bees
There is a really useful download offered here called
bbka_shrubs_for_bees_3-way_1306864579.pdf
for everyone who wants to make their garden friendly to bees.
Wednesday 13 July 2011
An Evening with The Pilot
This Episode is made as a part of an Installation at HoMA (Horsforth Modern Art, Leeds) during the John Hyatt exhibition, 'There is Only the Now' and forms part of a special evening at 7.00 p.m. on 16 July 2011, 'John Hyatt: The Artist and his Alter Egos'. All welcome. Meet other persona too: Sir Stuart Farquar; Doria Hemming; Gerry Windrim! All welcome.
Evening includes a viewing of Art Wars: Division and Design, last shown as the featured painting of The British Art Show, 1985.
Pilot's drawing machine (seen in video) is by Jack Tait. My thanks to Jack.
Saturday 9 July 2011
New Video from the Navigator
The Pilot of Bee Patrol is Missing!! The navigator is questioned. New video contribution starring Piloteer Alex Smyth-Osbourne, self-styled Navigator of Bee Patrol. See it now - only available from this blog:
Friday 8 July 2011
Friday 24 June 2011
Thursday 23 June 2011
Looking good and coming along
Piloteer Dave Moss's version of the Pilot's ship is coming into being!
The Craft in Wireframe
Piloteer Dave Moss is beavering away and the Pilot's Second Life ship is developing.
Wednesday 22 June 2011
Piloteer Dave Moss is building his version of the Pilot's Ship!
Here is the work Dave has done so far. He is building it in Second Life. Keep checking back to see the ship grow!
Wednesday 1 June 2011
Eagle-eyed Piloteer, Mike Hughes, recommends...
Tommy Bee Biker Training!
Come on, get the Buzz! Click the link below!
http://www.tommybee-bikertraining.co.uk/
Come on, get the Buzz! Click the link below!
http://www.tommybee-bikertraining.co.uk/
Saturday 28 May 2011
The Pilot's first live gig!
Yesterday, the Pilot appeared live with John Hyatt, Ted Chippington and the Nightingales at the New Continental, Preston.
Thursday 26 May 2011
The Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log Entry 110525
The Pilot has sent a whole new set of communications of the contents of his Flight Log.
This is the second of special transmissions for the Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log. These are not part of his exciting adventure episodes which continue on Youtube on the Hyattmovies channel.
This communication describes a very special day but, as the entries to the Flight Log are undated, it is impossible to say when this recording was made, except to repeat the words of the Pilot, "There is no past, there is no future, there is only the Now".
This is the second of special transmissions for the Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log. These are not part of his exciting adventure episodes which continue on Youtube on the Hyattmovies channel.
This communication describes a very special day but, as the entries to the Flight Log are undated, it is impossible to say when this recording was made, except to repeat the words of the Pilot, "There is no past, there is no future, there is only the Now".
Monday 23 May 2011
Extract from The Pilot's Log 4
A River Ran Through It
Through the revolving doors, the foyer had a river running through it. Rich red, patterned carpet ended in a metal strip and polished tiles lead to the central feature of a model sailing ship some four metres long by four high. Beyond that there was a small rail like on a ship. Over this rail, you could see the coy carp circling in the eddies. The river water was clear and flowed seemingly backwards to a forty-metre waterfall at the top of which was a rocky outcrop with a small pagoda in the trees.
“Come on with you,” she said, running into the trees and to the right of the falls.
That was the last I saw of her like that.
Through the revolving doors, the foyer had a river running through it. Rich red, patterned carpet ended in a metal strip and polished tiles lead to the central feature of a model sailing ship some four metres long by four high. Beyond that there was a small rail like on a ship. Over this rail, you could see the coy carp circling in the eddies. The river water was clear and flowed seemingly backwards to a forty-metre waterfall at the top of which was a rocky outcrop with a small pagoda in the trees.
“Come on with you,” she said, running into the trees and to the right of the falls.
That was the last I saw of her like that.
The Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log Entry 110523
The Pilot has sent a whole new set of communications of the contents of his Flight Log.
This is the first of special transmissions for the Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log and not part of his exciting adventure episodes. Thank you, Pilot! These will give us a wonderful, behind-the-scenes view of things through your eyes and ears.
View this communication:
This is the first of special transmissions for the Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log and not part of his exciting adventure episodes. Thank you, Pilot! These will give us a wonderful, behind-the-scenes view of things through your eyes and ears.
View this communication:
Saturday 14 May 2011
A Different Perspective on the Log
˙ɹǝdɐd ǝןqısıʌuı uo pǝʇuıɹd sɐʍ ʇı sɐ ǝuıןǝɟıן ǝןƃuıs ɐ ʇnq pǝɥsıuıɟ ʇou sɐʍ ʇɔɐ ʇsɐן sıɥʇ ʎןuıɐʇɹǝɔ ˙ɐɹʇsǝɥɔɹo ǝnןq ǝɥʇ ǝpısʇno ǝɹǝɥʍǝɯos suǝʌɐǝɥ ʎɯɹoʇs ǝɥʇ pǝɹǝʇuǝ ʎǝɥʇ sɐ ʎpoןǝɯ ɐ ƃuıs oʇ ǝsoɥɔ ʎǝɥʇ ɹǝɥʇǝƃoʇ ƃuıʎɐʇs puɐ spuɐɥ ɹıǝɥʇ pǝdıʍ ʎǝɥʇ suıʞdɐu dn ƃuıʞɔıd ˙ǝןqɐǝɯɹǝd osןɐ sɐʍ ɹǝppɐן ǝɥʇ ʇɐɥʇ ǝsıןɐǝɹ oʇ ʇuǝɯoɯ ɐ ƃuıʞɐʇ 'pǝɹnʇsǝƃ puɐ pǝsnɯ spoƃ puɐsnoɥʇ ǝɥʇ ˙ʇı uʍop uɐɹ puɐ pǝʌɐʍ 'sǝɔuǝnbǝsuoɔ ǝɥʇ ɟo ʇɥƃnoɥʇ ou ɥʇıʍ 'oƃuıɯɐןɟ ɐ sǝʇnuıɯ uı ɹǝʌǝʍoɥ ˙ʇsɐoʇ ɟo ǝpɐɯ ʎuoɥdɯʎs ɐ osןɐ puɐ ǝʞɐɟ ɐ ǝɔuo ʇɐ ǝɹǝʍ sƃuıɥʇ sɐ ɯǝןqoɹd ɐ sɐʍ ǝɹǝɥʇ ˙pǝɹɐǝddɐ pɐɥ ɹǝppɐן snouıɯnן ɐɹʇxǝ uɐ ˙ɹɐןnɔɹıɔ puɐ sɯǝʇs uo ʍou ǝɹǝʍ pǝɹɐdǝɹdun puɐ uʍouʞun ǝɥʇ ʇnq ɹǝƃuoן ǝɹǝʍ sdǝʇs uʍouʞ ǝɥʇ ˙sןɐʇǝd uɐʇ ɟo ʇןınq ɥʇuıɹʎqɐן ɐ ɥʇıʍ pǝuɹǝʇʇɐd ɹǝdɯnɾ ʞuıd pǝuɹǝʇʇɐd ɐ ǝɹoʍ ɥɔɐǝ puɐ poƃ ɹɐןnɔıʇɹɐd ɐ oʇuı pǝƃuɐɥɔ ןןɐ pɐɥ ʎǝɥʇ ˙pǝʇɐdıɔıʇɹɐd ǝuoʎɹǝʌǝ ʇɐɥʇ ʎɹɐssǝɔǝu sɐʍ ʇı 'uıɐƃɐ ƃuıʇןǝɯ sɐʍ ǝɹnʇɔǝʇıɥɔɹɐ pɹɐɥ ǝsoɥʍ 'ɹɐq ןǝʇoɥ ǝɥʇ ʇɐ ʞɔɐq
˙sןןɐqʍous puɐ ʇsoɹɟ ǝʞɐɟ ɟo ɹɐןןoɔ ןןnɟ ɐ oʇuı pǝƃuɐɥɔ puɐ pǝןƃuıɯɯoɔ sǝןqqnq ƃuıןɹıʍs ɟo ʎuoɥdoɔɐɔ ǝןqɐuıƃɐɯıun uɐ sǝʇnuıɯ uıɥʇıʍ ˙uı pǝdɯnɾ 'ɹǝʇɐʍ ɟo ǝpɐɯ sɐʍ ʇǝןnʌıɹ ǝɥʇ ƃuıʞuıɥʇ 'uoɯןɐs ƃuıןʞuıʍʇ ǝןƃuıs ɐ uǝɥʍ sʞןɐʇs uo ǝɹǝʍ puɐ ʍǝɹƃ sǝʎǝ ’sɹǝןןǝʌɐɹʇ ɹǝɥʇo ǝɥʇ ˙ɹǝʎoɟ ǝɥʇ ƃuıןןǝʍs puɐ ƃuıpןoɟun ǝɹǝʍ suoısuǝɯıp ǝsoɥʍ ʇǝןnʌıɹ-ɯnɔ-ǝnssıʇ ɐ oʇ ƃuıʇuıod ʎq pǝıןdǝɹ puɐ pǝɥƃnɐן oɥʍ sɹǝƃuıɟ ƃuıןɹıʍs ǝʇıɹnoʌɐɟ ɹıǝɥʇ pǝןʞɔıʇ puɐ pǝʍoqןǝ 'pǝıqqoן uǝɥʇ sʞuıɹp ɹıǝɥʇ pǝʞɔǝɥɔ ʎǝɥʇ ǝןıɥʍ ןןıʇs ǝɹǝʍ ʎǝɥʇ ˙pǝʌɹǝs ǝɹǝʍ sʇsǝnƃ uɐɯnɥ ƃuınƃɹɐ '(ǝɹnʇɐu ɹıǝɥʇ uı sɐʍ ʇı) ʎsou ʇnq ǝןdɯıs ǝɥʇ puɐ pǝɹɐǝddɐ ʍous ɟo sǝʞɐןɟ ɥʇıʍ pǝʇsnɹɔuǝ sןooʇsɹɐq pǝsıɐɹ puɐ sǝssɐןƃ 'ɹǝǝq uǝɥʇ
˙ƃuıɹǝʇʇnןds puɐ ƃuıƃuɐɥɔ ǝɔıoʌ snouoɥdʎןod puɐ ʎɯɐǝɹp 'ʞɔıɥʇ sʇı 'spuɐʍ puɐ ןooʍ ǝʇıɥʍ ɟo pɹɐzzıןq ɐ pǝɥʇoɹɟ puɐ pǝpuɐdxǝ sıɥʇ 'ʇxǝu ˙ʎʞs ǝɥʇ uı ɥʇnoɯ ƃuıʇɐʇnɯ ɔıʇsɐןd uɐdpɐǝp ɐ ɯoɹɟ ǝɯɐɔ ɥɔıɥʍ spɹoʍ oʇ ǝɯıʇ uı punoɹɐ ƃuıʇɟıɥs ʎןʇǝınb 'ǝuıן ʇɥƃıɐɹʇs ǝuo uı ɹǝɥʇǝƃoʇ sǝʌןǝsɯǝɥʇ pןǝɥ 'sןıssoɟ uo ǝsoɥʇ ǝʞıן suɹǝʇʇɐd ɟo ǝpɐɯ puɐ dǝǝp ǝɹǝʍ sʇuıɹdɹǝƃuıɟ ǝsoɥʍ 'sɹǝƃuıɟ ǝןqɹɐɯ snoɯɹouǝ uǝʇ :uıɐƃɐ pǝƃuɐɥɔ oıɹɐuǝɔs ǝɥʇ ʇuɐʇsuı ʇɐɥʇ uı
Yours sincerely and with best wishes
B.L.Z.Bubb
˙sןןɐqʍous puɐ ʇsoɹɟ ǝʞɐɟ ɟo ɹɐןןoɔ ןןnɟ ɐ oʇuı pǝƃuɐɥɔ puɐ pǝןƃuıɯɯoɔ sǝןqqnq ƃuıןɹıʍs ɟo ʎuoɥdoɔɐɔ ǝןqɐuıƃɐɯıun uɐ sǝʇnuıɯ uıɥʇıʍ ˙uı pǝdɯnɾ 'ɹǝʇɐʍ ɟo ǝpɐɯ sɐʍ ʇǝןnʌıɹ ǝɥʇ ƃuıʞuıɥʇ 'uoɯןɐs ƃuıןʞuıʍʇ ǝןƃuıs ɐ uǝɥʍ sʞןɐʇs uo ǝɹǝʍ puɐ ʍǝɹƃ sǝʎǝ ’sɹǝןןǝʌɐɹʇ ɹǝɥʇo ǝɥʇ ˙ɹǝʎoɟ ǝɥʇ ƃuıןןǝʍs puɐ ƃuıpןoɟun ǝɹǝʍ suoısuǝɯıp ǝsoɥʍ ʇǝןnʌıɹ-ɯnɔ-ǝnssıʇ ɐ oʇ ƃuıʇuıod ʎq pǝıןdǝɹ puɐ pǝɥƃnɐן oɥʍ sɹǝƃuıɟ ƃuıןɹıʍs ǝʇıɹnoʌɐɟ ɹıǝɥʇ pǝןʞɔıʇ puɐ pǝʍoqןǝ 'pǝıqqoן uǝɥʇ sʞuıɹp ɹıǝɥʇ pǝʞɔǝɥɔ ʎǝɥʇ ǝןıɥʍ ןןıʇs ǝɹǝʍ ʎǝɥʇ ˙pǝʌɹǝs ǝɹǝʍ sʇsǝnƃ uɐɯnɥ ƃuınƃɹɐ '(ǝɹnʇɐu ɹıǝɥʇ uı sɐʍ ʇı) ʎsou ʇnq ǝןdɯıs ǝɥʇ puɐ pǝɹɐǝddɐ ʍous ɟo sǝʞɐןɟ ɥʇıʍ pǝʇsnɹɔuǝ sןooʇsɹɐq pǝsıɐɹ puɐ sǝssɐןƃ 'ɹǝǝq uǝɥʇ
˙ƃuıɹǝʇʇnןds puɐ ƃuıƃuɐɥɔ ǝɔıoʌ snouoɥdʎןod puɐ ʎɯɐǝɹp 'ʞɔıɥʇ sʇı 'spuɐʍ puɐ ןooʍ ǝʇıɥʍ ɟo pɹɐzzıןq ɐ pǝɥʇoɹɟ puɐ pǝpuɐdxǝ sıɥʇ 'ʇxǝu ˙ʎʞs ǝɥʇ uı ɥʇnoɯ ƃuıʇɐʇnɯ ɔıʇsɐןd uɐdpɐǝp ɐ ɯoɹɟ ǝɯɐɔ ɥɔıɥʍ spɹoʍ oʇ ǝɯıʇ uı punoɹɐ ƃuıʇɟıɥs ʎןʇǝınb 'ǝuıן ʇɥƃıɐɹʇs ǝuo uı ɹǝɥʇǝƃoʇ sǝʌןǝsɯǝɥʇ pןǝɥ 'sןıssoɟ uo ǝsoɥʇ ǝʞıן suɹǝʇʇɐd ɟo ǝpɐɯ puɐ dǝǝp ǝɹǝʍ sʇuıɹdɹǝƃuıɟ ǝsoɥʍ 'sɹǝƃuıɟ ǝןqɹɐɯ snoɯɹouǝ uǝʇ :uıɐƃɐ pǝƃuɐɥɔ oıɹɐuǝɔs ǝɥʇ ʇuɐʇsuı ʇɐɥʇ uı
Yours sincerely and with best wishes
B.L.Z.Bubb
An alternative version of extract 3 - by Tara Nive
Friday night and the Bruins were out drinking, so Tara sneaked onto their laptop and came up with an alternative version of Extract 3 from the Flight Log of The Pilot of Bee Patrol (see previous post) using almost the same words!
Enjoy, beelievers!
An alternative version of extract 3 - by Tara Nive
Within there was an ladder into bubbling, frothing water in which plastic sky-blue salmon swirled in their thousands. They were enormous, but checking and choosing their moment to enter the storm.
The guests participated at once, drinking and laughing, their voices commingling as if in a symphony, and thinking it was an extra lifeline. But within ten minutes there was an problem as time shifted back and the travellers spluttered. In minutes they had quietly melted into fossil-encrusted flakes of permeable pink tissue. This swirled and swelled like snow but grew into a twinkling blizzard whose white architecture was unimaginable: steps built of human mouths, elbows and noses, and eyes and hands on stalks. Hands served fake petals from which appeared stems of hard, frosted glass bubbles with a wool finish. In an instant the architecture was stayed and held together by a beer. This expanded into an orchestra of barstools.
As the next simple but also arguably necessary scenario unfolded, ten luminous flamingos made out of single paper napkins drank water in the dream-lobby-cum-bar of the nature hotel. They wore tan patterned jumpers and with no thought of the as yet invisible consequences they wandered about the foyer. They mused, gestured, waved, pointed and tickled each other while mutating and taking any fingerprints of their favourite moments - which replied when they thought the pattern had changed .
Others, more deadpan, realised things had already changed, ate toast and wore full collars and glasses and sang deep one-line melodies while they raised, wiped and placed down balls of marble words.
They were all unprepared for the nature of the last act when a particularly heavenly cacophony of rivulets ran down and around a changing single finger-god who held on to a printed melody. It was still there somewhere in the labyrinth when everyone known had gone. Certainly things were no longer in a straight line: dimensions were polyphonous and circular, though it was still snowing thickly outside...
Tara
Enjoy, beelievers!
An alternative version of extract 3 - by Tara Nive
Within there was an ladder into bubbling, frothing water in which plastic sky-blue salmon swirled in their thousands. They were enormous, but checking and choosing their moment to enter the storm.
The guests participated at once, drinking and laughing, their voices commingling as if in a symphony, and thinking it was an extra lifeline. But within ten minutes there was an problem as time shifted back and the travellers spluttered. In minutes they had quietly melted into fossil-encrusted flakes of permeable pink tissue. This swirled and swelled like snow but grew into a twinkling blizzard whose white architecture was unimaginable: steps built of human mouths, elbows and noses, and eyes and hands on stalks. Hands served fake petals from which appeared stems of hard, frosted glass bubbles with a wool finish. In an instant the architecture was stayed and held together by a beer. This expanded into an orchestra of barstools.
As the next simple but also arguably necessary scenario unfolded, ten luminous flamingos made out of single paper napkins drank water in the dream-lobby-cum-bar of the nature hotel. They wore tan patterned jumpers and with no thought of the as yet invisible consequences they wandered about the foyer. They mused, gestured, waved, pointed and tickled each other while mutating and taking any fingerprints of their favourite moments - which replied when they thought the pattern had changed .
Others, more deadpan, realised things had already changed, ate toast and wore full collars and glasses and sang deep one-line melodies while they raised, wiped and placed down balls of marble words.
They were all unprepared for the nature of the last act when a particularly heavenly cacophony of rivulets ran down and around a changing single finger-god who held on to a printed melody. It was still there somewhere in the labyrinth when everyone known had gone. Certainly things were no longer in a straight line: dimensions were polyphonous and circular, though it was still snowing thickly outside...
Tara
Tuesday 10 May 2011
Voice from the Other Side?
Piloteer B.L.Z.Bubb has picked up what might be a message from the other side whilst watching the new Episode of The Pilot's adventure. Is it a communication or just noise or both? What do you think? B. needs your help with this one!
Extract from The Pilot's Log 3
The Pattern Jumpers.
It was snowing outside.
After checking in, I met her, at the foyer-cum-bar of the Hard Water Hotel.
She pointed out at the blizzard and into the thick of a growing storm. Her finger singled out one particular flake that swirled within the thousands: “I like that one,” she said in a deadpan voice but with a twinkling eye, “that’s my favourite!”
I spluttered. Bubbles of fake beer froth tickled my nose for an instant.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I put the drink down. Fingerprints melted on frosted glass. Rivulets ran stalks down into the paper napkin. Around the stem the sky-blue printed tissue of the petal collar expanded and made the words, ‘Hard Water Hotel’, swell into extra dimensions.
She shifted on the tan plastic barstool and placed one pink elbow on the luminous fossil-encrusted marble. She waved a circular gesture with an invisible wand into the white, salmon and flamingo architecture of the lobby.
“We are all guests. We are all travellers. Choosing when to stay and when to go will be the last great human problem,” she said.
“And who will serve? And who will build? Once all have gone, the scenario is unimaginable,” I replied from a dream thought.
“The consequences are enormous but not everyone can go. It is arguable that there aren’t consequences any longer, as we have known them, for those that will go. In the act of pattern jumping, they become permeable and mutate. They participate in a conmingling singularity.”
“My God, what shall we do? What have we done?”
“We have changed the nature of ‘we’!”
“No, we have realised the nature of ‘we’.
“Things will unfold.”
“One step at a time.”
“Moments in a line.”
“So be it!”
“Here’s to us,” she said and we raised glasses in a toast and laughed for a full ten minutes.
Then, we were quiet for ten minutes more.
“Moments in a line…” I said, musing, “… it is no longer a straight line.”
“But the line is still there somewhere in the pattern, like a simple melody in a symphony.”
“It might be necessary to hold onto that melody. It’s the ball of wool into the labyrinth. It will be a lifeline: a ladder from the deep to the heavens through the cacophony.”
“Polyphony, certainly.”
“The orchestra prepares?”
“Let us go.”
“In?”
“In!”
“One moment, then, I’ll finish my beer.”
It was snowing outside.
After checking in, I met her, at the foyer-cum-bar of the Hard Water Hotel.
She pointed out at the blizzard and into the thick of a growing storm. Her finger singled out one particular flake that swirled within the thousands: “I like that one,” she said in a deadpan voice but with a twinkling eye, “that’s my favourite!”
I spluttered. Bubbles of fake beer froth tickled my nose for an instant.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I put the drink down. Fingerprints melted on frosted glass. Rivulets ran stalks down into the paper napkin. Around the stem the sky-blue printed tissue of the petal collar expanded and made the words, ‘Hard Water Hotel’, swell into extra dimensions.
She shifted on the tan plastic barstool and placed one pink elbow on the luminous fossil-encrusted marble. She waved a circular gesture with an invisible wand into the white, salmon and flamingo architecture of the lobby.
“We are all guests. We are all travellers. Choosing when to stay and when to go will be the last great human problem,” she said.
“And who will serve? And who will build? Once all have gone, the scenario is unimaginable,” I replied from a dream thought.
“The consequences are enormous but not everyone can go. It is arguable that there aren’t consequences any longer, as we have known them, for those that will go. In the act of pattern jumping, they become permeable and mutate. They participate in a conmingling singularity.”
“My God, what shall we do? What have we done?”
“We have changed the nature of ‘we’!”
“No, we have realised the nature of ‘we’.
“Things will unfold.”
“One step at a time.”
“Moments in a line.”
“So be it!”
“Here’s to us,” she said and we raised glasses in a toast and laughed for a full ten minutes.
Then, we were quiet for ten minutes more.
“Moments in a line…” I said, musing, “… it is no longer a straight line.”
“But the line is still there somewhere in the pattern, like a simple melody in a symphony.”
“It might be necessary to hold onto that melody. It’s the ball of wool into the labyrinth. It will be a lifeline: a ladder from the deep to the heavens through the cacophony.”
“Polyphony, certainly.”
“The orchestra prepares?”
“Let us go.”
“In?”
“In!”
“One moment, then, I’ll finish my beer.”
Sunday 8 May 2011
New Episode of the Pilot posted today on Hyattmovies
The Pilot of Bee Patrol: Series 2 - Episode 8 is now live on YouTube.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrUopCCk11Y&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL
Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrUopCCk11Y&feature=mfu_in_order&list=UL
Enjoy!
Support Helen Beebee!
The British Philosophical Association Director, Helen Beebee, has said recently:
“Philosophy has been taught in universities for over 900 years. It addresses questions that continue to be central to our understanding of the world and our place within it. The core aim of any self-respecting university should be the pursuit of knowledge; but philosophy is unique in addressing the question of what knowledge itself is.”
Arguing against the closure of Philosophy at Greenwich University, Beebee contends that the subject should be available as widely as possible:
“The new universities [...] play a vital role in this. They have broad access to parts of the community where the appeal of the ‘old’ universities is very limited; moreover, philosophy is a subject that can be studied from a wide variety of educational backgrounds.”
want to support Helen Beebee? Go to:
http://www.gopetition.com/petitions/support-london-metropolitan-university.html
“Philosophy has been taught in universities for over 900 years. It addresses questions that continue to be central to our understanding of the world and our place within it. The core aim of any self-respecting university should be the pursuit of knowledge; but philosophy is unique in addressing the question of what knowledge itself is.”
Arguing against the closure of Philosophy at Greenwich University, Beebee contends that the subject should be available as widely as possible:
“The new universities [...] play a vital role in this. They have broad access to parts of the community where the appeal of the ‘old’ universities is very limited; moreover, philosophy is a subject that can be studied from a wide variety of educational backgrounds.”
want to support Helen Beebee? Go to:
http://www.gopetition.com/petitions/support-london-metropolitan-university.html
On the Transporter-Room Floor: 2 Bee or not 2 Be
Here is a rejected movie, 'To bee or not to Be', that was to be Episode 2 of The Pilot of Bee Patrol. I made the decision that the Pilot movies would not be led by my music. At the same moment, I created the Hyattmovies channel on Youtube to keep my movie movies seperate from my music video movies. This was the moment when I made the decision to really try and do something new with the Pilot: to try and make something special. Before this, I had made the one little movie which only became Episode 1 once I had made Episode 2. It had been a Pilot itself. Now it was the first Episode! Now I was committing to a series and had to remake the past and imagine and dream futures in the Now. However, there is nothing wrong with this rejected episode - it is just another possible journey that the Pilot didn't take. It is appropriate that this rarity, left behind on the floor of the Transporter, should be shown here on the Flight Log for the Piloteers, Beesearchers, and Crew. Enjoy!
Saturday 7 May 2011
B.L.Z.Bubb Learning the Waggledance
This is a video from the family vault of Piloteer Bee L. Zee Bubb. Here we can see Bee's first attempts at the Pilot's famous Waggledance. Keep on practicing, Bee! Internet sources report the Waggledance is becoming popular in Pakistan.
Pilot Spotted in France
Piloteer Candy Ballard managed to capture a snap of the Pilot as he nestled during a training session in a French garden. Thanks for the send, Candy! Beautiful camerawork - really shows the design of that fantastic ship!
Contributions to the Flight Log should be sent to Hyattartandlife@googlemail.com
Script: The Pilot of Bee Patrol: Series 1 - Episode 4
Pilot’s Address
(A little in the style of a true king, The Pilot makes an annual address. It is like casting a stone into a deep pool. Many gather and a silence falls in the Storiverse to hear it…)
“Yeah, I am the Pilot of Bee Patrol.
“Long journey!
“No past, no future, there’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through – there’s only Now.
(Background sound falls silent for the Pilot’s Address to the conscious and yet-to-be-conscious beings of the Storiverse…)
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Let the story out!
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Plus or minus, what is it you’ve got to lose?
“Nothing to lose!
“The stone is in the plum.
“The plum is in the stone
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Let it out!
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Let me out!
“There is no past, there is no future, there is only the Now.
“That’s how you get through it”.
(His sweet words create a growing broadcast honeycomb.)
(fade)
Now watch the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgTWslRSkl4&feature=related
(A little in the style of a true king, The Pilot makes an annual address. It is like casting a stone into a deep pool. Many gather and a silence falls in the Storiverse to hear it…)
“Yeah, I am the Pilot of Bee Patrol.
“Long journey!
“No past, no future, there’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through – there’s only Now.
(Background sound falls silent for the Pilot’s Address to the conscious and yet-to-be-conscious beings of the Storiverse…)
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Let the story out!
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Plus or minus, what is it you’ve got to lose?
“Nothing to lose!
“The stone is in the plum.
“The plum is in the stone
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Let it out!
“Men and Women of Imagination!
“Let me out!
“There is no past, there is no future, there is only the Now.
“That’s how you get through it”.
(His sweet words create a growing broadcast honeycomb.)
(fade)
Now watch the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgTWslRSkl4&feature=related
Friday 6 May 2011
Droning On
Piloteer Anna V. Lactic has been out patroling today and has made this video, 'Droning On'. It is a remake of the classic family movie, 'Beethoven'.
On any Patrol, the Devil is in the Detail.
This photo-booth image has been sent in by Piloteer, Bee L. Zee Bubb. Thanks, Bee! I have been out on nights like that when you are positively magnetic.
Script: The Pilot of Bee Patrol: Series 1 - Episode 3
The Scream
(Sometimes the interminable length of his journey can get to The Pilot of Bee Patrol, especially when he wakes up in a fire-fight to find that something has written the word ‘Bee’ in the condensation of his window. This sends him into a seemingly endless scream like a figure from a Munch painting. He has been trained to use his voice in very special ways. He begins to ruminate on his life and nature as a wave-formed instrument of pure music…)
“Yeah, I am the Pilot of Bee Patrol.
“Long journey!
“No past, no future, there’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through – there’s only Now.
“My bones drummed the bass.
“My muscles bore a rhythm.
“Melodies on veins.
“A tambourine my skin.
“When I was born, an instrument was fashioned.
“When I was one, a tuning fork walked the world.
“When I was two, I played a merry tune.
“When I was three, the world played me.
“Now I am older, I have been through many hands.
“I’ve played one-night stands.
“Had fans.
“Sang city songs
“Books’ songs.
“Wrung songs.
“Political songs.
“But now I sing the song that I am.
“The tune I was born to be”.
(His scream has become silent, he calms.)
(fade)
Now see the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fm6D0SHnbkc&feature=related
(Sometimes the interminable length of his journey can get to The Pilot of Bee Patrol, especially when he wakes up in a fire-fight to find that something has written the word ‘Bee’ in the condensation of his window. This sends him into a seemingly endless scream like a figure from a Munch painting. He has been trained to use his voice in very special ways. He begins to ruminate on his life and nature as a wave-formed instrument of pure music…)
“Yeah, I am the Pilot of Bee Patrol.
“Long journey!
“No past, no future, there’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through – there’s only Now.
“My bones drummed the bass.
“My muscles bore a rhythm.
“Melodies on veins.
“A tambourine my skin.
“When I was born, an instrument was fashioned.
“When I was one, a tuning fork walked the world.
“When I was two, I played a merry tune.
“When I was three, the world played me.
“Now I am older, I have been through many hands.
“I’ve played one-night stands.
“Had fans.
“Sang city songs
“Books’ songs.
“Wrung songs.
“Political songs.
“But now I sing the song that I am.
“The tune I was born to be”.
(His scream has become silent, he calms.)
(fade)
Now see the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fm6D0SHnbkc&feature=related
Thursday 5 May 2011
Home Video
Piloteer Anna V. Lactic has sent in her BBC TV video of homeworld buzziness. Thanks, Anna! This is great to watch on long journeys.
Wednesday 4 May 2011
Eucatastrophe!
Piloteer Paula Atkinson's photo of the Pilot. Paula spotted the Pilot of Bee Patrol when by a happy accident he landed in a tree! Thanks for the send Paula.
Contributions to the Pilot of Bee Patrol Flight Log should be sent to hyattartandlife@googlemail.com
Please note, no wmv files.
Saturday 30 April 2011
Script: The Pilot of Bee Patrol: Series 1 - Episode 2
The Time Barrier
(The Pilot of Bee Patrol has been mirrored down the middle. He sits at the controls, looking like a cross between Chairman Mao and a teddy bear. Lights flash outside. The soundtrack is the sound of the Sun speeded up. He smiles…)
“Yeah, I am the Pilot of Bee Patrol.
“Long journey!
“No past, no future, there’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through.
(His third eye appears and disappears.)
“There’s only Now.
“The more you go into the vortex, the more the square and the circle meet from the perspective of Now until you can jump the void between by a virtuous fall of belief.
“You have to look with Mona Lisa’s eyes.
“And at the centre is a crystal of sky on a tiger’s head.
“At the centre is the Fool.
“The Jester’s hat.
“On a snake.
“The broken mirror needs to be mended.
“That’s the time twister.
“There is no past.
“There is no future.
“There’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through it”.
(He falls asleep to dream.)
(fade)
See the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9_b8csaB3Yc
(The Pilot of Bee Patrol has been mirrored down the middle. He sits at the controls, looking like a cross between Chairman Mao and a teddy bear. Lights flash outside. The soundtrack is the sound of the Sun speeded up. He smiles…)
“Yeah, I am the Pilot of Bee Patrol.
“Long journey!
“No past, no future, there’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through.
(His third eye appears and disappears.)
“There’s only Now.
“The more you go into the vortex, the more the square and the circle meet from the perspective of Now until you can jump the void between by a virtuous fall of belief.
“You have to look with Mona Lisa’s eyes.
“And at the centre is a crystal of sky on a tiger’s head.
“At the centre is the Fool.
“The Jester’s hat.
“On a snake.
“The broken mirror needs to be mended.
“That’s the time twister.
“There is no past.
“There is no future.
“There’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through it”.
(He falls asleep to dream.)
(fade)
See the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9_b8csaB3Yc
Wednesday 27 April 2011
Friday 22 April 2011
Script: The Pilot of Bee Patrol: Episode 1
(The Pilot of Bee Patrol is in his cockpit. He looks sleepy, almost drunken. It is the result of his long interminable journey. Many moons at the controls… thinking… philosophising… figuring it all out… steering us true. Lights explode outside. He is ruminating…)
“Yeah, I am the Pilot of Bee Patrol.
“Long journey!
“No past, no future, there’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through.
“There’s only Now.
“We are bubbles: bubbles that grow; bubbles that pop and phase transition between matter and energy.
“Your solar system is one ecology.
“The Sun is no more the centre than Jupiter.
“Jupiter is the matter Sun – the Dark Sun.
“Matter is an expression of the troughs of the vibrational energy field.
“It is the Dark Energy.
“I am the Pilot of Bee Patrol.
“There is no past.
“There is no future.
“There’s only the Now.
“That’s how you get through it”.
(fade)
See the movie:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwfvwHN9no0
Tuesday 19 April 2011
Bee Family Secrets
Battle of Britain Campaign Diary
26/10/1940: 'At 2000 hours, Blenheim L1375 crashed into flarepath on landing. The crew were unhurt, consisting of P/O Humphreys, Air Gunner Sgt Bee and LAC Wilson, AI operator'.http://www.raf.mod.uk/bob1940/f5400292.html
The Pilot and Me
Piloteer Dudley Edwards has sent in his illustration, 'The Pilot and Me'. All contributions to the Pilot's Log are warmly received. E-mail to hyattartandlife@googlemail.com
Monday 18 April 2011
Extract from The Pilot's Log
No Earthling had ever met or seen an Andromedan before. Their envoy, Mun Tommo Bon, and his entourage had beamed down from their planet, Pandrapand, into the Presidential Suite of the Soyenski Hotel yesterday evening. It was with some trepidation that I awaited his arrival in the dining area as I was the diplomat elected to lead and represent Earth’s interests in the first day’s talks. Mun Tommo Bon, himself, would appear for breakfast at dawn before we commence a round of delicate peace negotiations between our two planets.
This was a seemingly straight-forward arrangement that soon revealed itself to be incredibly complex. The question was, ‘What do you give a visiting dignitary from the planet Pandrapand to eat’? After much deliberation, our diplomatic service agreed that the answer was… everything… just in case.
Consequently, on the morning of our first encounter, the tension was high and the buffet tables groaned with food when Mun Tommo Bon came down to breakfast at the Soyenski. Everything that could be prepared had been prepared: all we could find from the world of food from every culture of the Earth was on display.
The Andromedan ambassador was four-feet cubed and in ceremonial dress. He sat at a two-person table in the hotel dining room with his assistant, an altogether slighter but no taller Andromedan, opposite him. As decorum demanded, whilst the envoy, Mun Tommo Bon, was happy (even positively eager) to serve himself, it had been decreed beforehand that he must eat first at all meals alone and everyone else, Andromedan and Earthling, had to wait until he had finished.
It was his first morning and first meal upon our planet. He prowled the counters of food like a beast. His short neck was wider than his head and this allowed a stocky purposefulness to his swift gait. He examined the food with his eyes: the meats, fruits and vegetables that had been brought from all over the world lay before him, labelled with place of origin and adorned with little colourful flags. There were Polish breads; British vegetables; American cereals; French jams; German strudels; Norwegian fish; Belgian eggs; Chinese and Indian teas; South American and Arabian coffees; Asian Dim Sum; African fruits; Greek beans; Irish mushrooms; Italian pastas; French cheeses; Australian wines; Scottish biscuits and other specialities from every part of the globe.
He took a plate in one hand like a discus and a fork in the other like a spear. He made a fourth circuit of the counters and examined the food again with the tips of the fork: he lifted delicate slices of wafer thin ham to look beneath them; he scattered crispy bacon; he rolled olives; he shovelled muesli; he stirred soups; he crushed crackers; he catapulted peas. All the time he never looked at anyone else or spoke, he concentrated one hundred percent on the task at hand, only occasionally making short stunted grunts in the soft bridge of his broad flat nose. On the third series of examinations, this nose came into its own as dishes were sniffed; aromas inhaled; drinks smelled. Then, the fourth investigation was touch with additional sniffing of his short, fat fingertips. All-in-all there were some twenty circumlocutions of the buffet counters before he stood back and was still.
Then, he set to like a dervish, filling plates high with food and his table high with plates until every square inch was laden with dishes.
Then, again, he was still and silent with his hands on his splayed knees. He breathed deeply as though summoning a strength from the floor. His head rose as his chest rose.
A blunt nasal grunt signalled the start of his eating. He was enthusiastic and ate with gusto. He speared herring, beef, lettuce and kattenbrot on the fork together. He spat milkless cereal that stuck to the outside of his lips. He opened a small plastic container with his big hands to reveal the pale yellow margarine and licked it out of the tiny tub with his tongue. He pushed the other twelve margarine containers off the table without looking with the back of his hand. He opened a strawberry jam and dipped a pickled gherkin inside of it. He sprinkled sugar on his salad, took one mouthful and then, for the second, dipped a tomato into his bowl of milk within which two hard-boiled eggs rolled around with the jolts his enthusiasm gave to the table. He lifted this and drank. The eggs rolled onto his face and the milk poured down his cheeks like tears and then rivulets and then waterfalls. He emptied a tea bag onto a napkin that he wrapped round a sausage. He poked a grape into each open end and then placed it on the floor with a Japanese flag impaling it.
Wiping his face with a slice of white bread, he was finished.
His assistant then rose to get food for himself. Whilst he was away at the counters, a waitress began to clear the debris from the table. Mun Tommo Bon, beastlike, eyed her every move intently, not in a sexual way but as though considering whether he could manage one more bite to eat.
The assistant returned to the small space cleared for him in the chaotic rubble of waste food. He ate a croissant with marmalade, a piece of light toast with a piece of Cheddar cheese sliced neatly with a butter knife. He sipped a cranberry juice, wiped his mouth with a napkin before placing his knife and fork together on the plate. Mun Tommo Bon waited with his hands again on his angled knees, his shoulders slowly rising and falling.
Breakfast over, it was time for the negotiations to begin.
This was a seemingly straight-forward arrangement that soon revealed itself to be incredibly complex. The question was, ‘What do you give a visiting dignitary from the planet Pandrapand to eat’? After much deliberation, our diplomatic service agreed that the answer was… everything… just in case.
Consequently, on the morning of our first encounter, the tension was high and the buffet tables groaned with food when Mun Tommo Bon came down to breakfast at the Soyenski. Everything that could be prepared had been prepared: all we could find from the world of food from every culture of the Earth was on display.
The Andromedan ambassador was four-feet cubed and in ceremonial dress. He sat at a two-person table in the hotel dining room with his assistant, an altogether slighter but no taller Andromedan, opposite him. As decorum demanded, whilst the envoy, Mun Tommo Bon, was happy (even positively eager) to serve himself, it had been decreed beforehand that he must eat first at all meals alone and everyone else, Andromedan and Earthling, had to wait until he had finished.
It was his first morning and first meal upon our planet. He prowled the counters of food like a beast. His short neck was wider than his head and this allowed a stocky purposefulness to his swift gait. He examined the food with his eyes: the meats, fruits and vegetables that had been brought from all over the world lay before him, labelled with place of origin and adorned with little colourful flags. There were Polish breads; British vegetables; American cereals; French jams; German strudels; Norwegian fish; Belgian eggs; Chinese and Indian teas; South American and Arabian coffees; Asian Dim Sum; African fruits; Greek beans; Irish mushrooms; Italian pastas; French cheeses; Australian wines; Scottish biscuits and other specialities from every part of the globe.
He took a plate in one hand like a discus and a fork in the other like a spear. He made a fourth circuit of the counters and examined the food again with the tips of the fork: he lifted delicate slices of wafer thin ham to look beneath them; he scattered crispy bacon; he rolled olives; he shovelled muesli; he stirred soups; he crushed crackers; he catapulted peas. All the time he never looked at anyone else or spoke, he concentrated one hundred percent on the task at hand, only occasionally making short stunted grunts in the soft bridge of his broad flat nose. On the third series of examinations, this nose came into its own as dishes were sniffed; aromas inhaled; drinks smelled. Then, the fourth investigation was touch with additional sniffing of his short, fat fingertips. All-in-all there were some twenty circumlocutions of the buffet counters before he stood back and was still.
Then, he set to like a dervish, filling plates high with food and his table high with plates until every square inch was laden with dishes.
Then, again, he was still and silent with his hands on his splayed knees. He breathed deeply as though summoning a strength from the floor. His head rose as his chest rose.
A blunt nasal grunt signalled the start of his eating. He was enthusiastic and ate with gusto. He speared herring, beef, lettuce and kattenbrot on the fork together. He spat milkless cereal that stuck to the outside of his lips. He opened a small plastic container with his big hands to reveal the pale yellow margarine and licked it out of the tiny tub with his tongue. He pushed the other twelve margarine containers off the table without looking with the back of his hand. He opened a strawberry jam and dipped a pickled gherkin inside of it. He sprinkled sugar on his salad, took one mouthful and then, for the second, dipped a tomato into his bowl of milk within which two hard-boiled eggs rolled around with the jolts his enthusiasm gave to the table. He lifted this and drank. The eggs rolled onto his face and the milk poured down his cheeks like tears and then rivulets and then waterfalls. He emptied a tea bag onto a napkin that he wrapped round a sausage. He poked a grape into each open end and then placed it on the floor with a Japanese flag impaling it.
Wiping his face with a slice of white bread, he was finished.
His assistant then rose to get food for himself. Whilst he was away at the counters, a waitress began to clear the debris from the table. Mun Tommo Bon, beastlike, eyed her every move intently, not in a sexual way but as though considering whether he could manage one more bite to eat.
The assistant returned to the small space cleared for him in the chaotic rubble of waste food. He ate a croissant with marmalade, a piece of light toast with a piece of Cheddar cheese sliced neatly with a butter knife. He sipped a cranberry juice, wiped his mouth with a napkin before placing his knife and fork together on the plate. Mun Tommo Bon waited with his hands again on his angled knees, his shoulders slowly rising and falling.
Breakfast over, it was time for the negotiations to begin.
The Pilot reflects on Niburu
You are waiting for a story about the return of our lost twin planet: Planet X or Niburu, as it known? Sorry to disappoint you but it is not like that. This time, ‘Once upon a time’ never happened. Niburu is not coming round again towards a cosmic event or outer space apocalyptic rendezvous. For Niburu is not out there travelling on some sort of perpendicular ecliptic path to meet up with her long-lost twin, the Earth. Niburu, our other, is here and is always here. Niburu is in the lines between the type.
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