# sleep through static

Or you could sleep through the static -
but who needs sleep when we’ve got love?

“I’m tired of the games, Bill!” Dipper shouted, finally getting up from the chair. He took three steps forward and threw his arm behind the demon’s head. “If you want to leave, fine, there’s the door!” His eyes were starting to sting as tears pricked the corners, but he wasn’t about to let Bill see that. “Run away like you always do, see if I care!”
“Dipper!” Mabel gasped behind him. She made to touch his shoulder in attempts to calm the situation, but Bill cut her off.
“Fine.”
Both twins froze, silent and stuck in place as they watched something neither would ever have thought to see. Two large tears spilled down rose tinted cheeks and Bill shook.
“Fine,” He repeated, voice quivering but still standing his ground. “Fine.”

3

I was listening to ’Sleep Through The Static’ and couldn’t resist

Electricity-storing objects like Pikachu’s cheeks are known as capacitors, a common element found in almost any circuit. But what is the science behind them? How does Pikachu store energy, and how does it collect the energy to store?

Well, the secret to a capacitor lies in a value called capacitance. Like the spring constant discussed in Spoink’s entry, the value of capacitance is unique to every capacitor, depending on what it’s made of, whether or not it’s filled, and how close the plates are to one another.

The capacitance is given by

C = q/V

Where q is the charge on one plate and V is the voltage between them.

We know Pikachu is capable of both storing and releasing lightning, so let’s take one bolt of lightning as our standard here. A typical lightning bolt is actually a series of small discharges, lasting milliseconds each for a total of around 0.2 seconds. A typical lightning strike has a charge of 15 Coulombs, although the bigger ones can be as high as 350 C. The voltage is anywhere from 10 to 100 million Volts.

## Assuming Pikachu’s Cheeks can store the largest bolts of lightning, their Capacitance is 3.5 μF.

This, actually, is a lot more reasonable than I was anticipating. In the circuits I’ve worked with, capacitors are generally in the micro Farad range, which is exactly what we find here. If you want another comparison, the Capacitance of the human body is around 400 pico-Farads: about 10% of Pikachu’s cheeks.

But let’s put this value to use. You can think of capacitors like a bucket, that can be filled with charge. However, just like you can have an empty bucket, you can have an empty capacitor. Citing the pokedex, Pikachu charges up while it’s sleeping, presumably through Static Electricity. You’ve experienced this if you’ve ever assaulted your hair with a balloon, or touched a metal doorknob after shuffling across the room in your wool socks. Even lightning itself is a form of Static Discharge. This also explains why Pikahu’s Ability is called “Static”.

The energy of a static discharge, and therefore Pikachu’s Attack, is given by:

E = ½CV^2

## For a move like Thunder, the electrical energy would be 35,000,000,000 Joules. For Thunder Shock, a small  static shock, it’s only a few hundred milliJoules.

It’s evident that Pikachu can control when, where, and how much energy to release at once, making it a dangerous pokemon to deal with. Particularly around sensitive electronic equipment.

Snippet

“Bill, this isn’t the same thing.” Dipper tried to reason.

Bill’s eyes flashed. He grabbed one of Dipper’s wrists and pulled him forward. “Say it. Now."

"No!” Dipper shouted, yanking his arm away. This was getting out of hand. “That isn’t how this works. You can just demand someone have feelings that don’t exist, Bill. We’ve already talked about this.” He motioned vaguely at the demon. “The blood, remember? This is all because of the blood."

Bill pushed his hand through his hair, frustrated, and looked away. This wasn’t what he expected to hear. Or, maybe it was? Dipper was right, in a way. All he had done was blame everything on the blood’s side effects. He bit his lip anxiously and turned back to face the human. Even so, he wanted to hear Dipper say it.

Dipper swallowed, a bit taken aback from the sincerity in Bill’s voice. He promised he’d help Bill figure out his human emotions. He did, but… "I just… Is this really a good idea?” He licked his suddenly dry lips, searching Bill’s face for any hint that the other might be joking. If anything seemed off it was that Bill looked anxious and almost desperate. Dipper sighed. He said he’d help. Whatever it took.

Westallen prompt: Barry and Iris raising the twins

“Bear!” Iris’ voice rings out over the early morning chaosin crisp, clear tones.

Barry’s still in bed, trying to wrangle a few spare minutesout of a night’s sleep broken by the police radio. Whether through sheer exhaustion during the pregnancy or the newborn days or the terrible twos, Iris has learned to sleep through it. She sleeps through the static, and the rush out the front door. But, somehow, when he crawls back into bed near the break of dawn, she is always awake enough to throw one arm around him, kiss his shoulder, hum into his skin and remind him what he’s fighting for.

Family.

حقيقي

“When you have insomnia, nothing is real. Everything is far away. Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy.”

These are Edward Norton’s words in the role of Tyler Durden in the drama Fight Club. A film I’ve adored (though not for obvious reasons) for over a decade. I know this film like I know my name.

So Tyler Durden/Norton has insomnia. That’s the obvious catalytic augury the film is resurrected upon. Norton is narrating this piece in the beginning act, lamenting that everything is a copy of a copy of a copy. These lines run in my head all too easily and often. When you work in the realms of psychology you push, pull, prod, and tweak things. There’s an endless external tug-of-war but there is a relentless internal one as well. Instead of a copy, everything is a reflection of a reflection of a reflection. Revealing.

I’m often given to stating that a persons actions and words (especially when negative towards others) portend more of a reflection of their own insecurities and shortcomings than any issue they could have with another individual. Our own ego (or consciousness would even be an easier term here) pollutes us though we carry it around.

The thing about reflection is that it doesn’t always fall into a state of good or a state of bad. We don’t have to ascribe to the Hegelian dialectic which illustrates that everything is either one way or the other till you chip away at it and find a middle ground; till you settle. Hegel would have us believe there is a place where we can deliberate and relent equally because everything is governed by the principle that two halves make a whole. The warm little centre is the balance. The weight on the fishing line of our proverbial lives. This doesn’t have to ring true in every circumstance.

Not all objects that are broken into two are of equal size. They are not, in fact, half. Not all parts fit seamlessly back together. Much like people, you can have two pieces of something and they are not equals. This disparity provides me with the ability to accept, tolerate, and even appreciate my fellow human more - knowing that I can take a step back and look at the grander scope of things. See the forest for the trees so to speak.

Humans are inherently flawed with doubt, but also levity. Our lives become redundant copies of copies. Our rituals become complacent idle reflection. We don’t know if we are truly going to get what we put in but we know nothing ventured is nothing gained. If we hide away in our material world of Ikea furniture, CK underwear, and self induced insomnia putting in nothing substantial, squandering our chances to affect change, then the sum of zero is the only guaranteed outcome we have. This doesn’t make it negative or positive though. It just is.

Sitting with this and many other long pondered sentiments, I marvel things far and wide. Who I am, where I am, why I am, and what it took in the evolutionary process for me to get here. My life isn’t all paintings, performances, and puns. But I know I don’t have to settle or look over my shoulder for the red side or the blue side. I’m on my own team. A place where Hegel is uninvited yet his words are welcomed and entertained. A point of reflection where I’d give Norton some lavender oil and a back rub hopefully coaxing him into a nap –because that is what I would wish he would do for me. Chewing valerian root to induce sleep is a bad idea by the way, and one that should never have been suggested in the film.

I revel, reflect, dismiss, and comply with my thoughts because they are my own. I ask myself first why I feel the way I do and how important is it really? To instill negativity into others solely because that may be their reaction to me is not my dig. I’m passive yet won’t be marred by words to the point of weeping. I’m strong yet won’t beat others down with pettiness or susceptibility. I’m soft yet won’t let myself be inundated with the new age whimsy of the “just saying” excuse-culture. I beseech the out of reach, the devine and the lame all at once. I dance in the halls of uncertain supplication and sleep through the static of raw raining truth regardless of what conditions society ranges are decent. I am devoid of anger over the small rocks that are dropped in my basket making it slightly heavier and more burdensome each time. I can carry them all gratefully. I am staunchly resolute.

I enjoy my life but I enjoy yours too. You whom feels the need to debate me because you are a right-fighter and unable to concept “let it be.” You whom loves me from afar and appreciates my existence. You’re both equal in my vision. Total halves. Contributors. The positives and the negatives both sharpening my mind. Helping me to screw my courage to the sticking place as Shakespeare so wearily stated long ago. All at once you are the territory of Brad Pitts verity and the damnation of Edward Norton’s Hades. And if you can’t see how all of this ties together, then perhaps it’s time to reflect. You haven’t been paying attention.

WORKING CLASS HERO; A FEUILLY FANMIX. [listen]