stockholm.hostmaster.org/7
I have replaced ntpd with 116 lines of PERL and...
Servers: 5 Average Offset: 6.07490539550781e-05 /usr/sbin/adjtimex --frequency=1105 --tick=10000
This letter was written by Leonard Nimoy (Mr. Spock) and published by Americans for Peace Now in 2011: https://x.com/R34lB0rg/status/1901388200347570197/photo/1
I'd bet $1000 that these bots are operating from Langley, VA, USA and not from Saint-Petersburg, Russia. https://x.com/R34lB0rg/status/1901349934068064373
R.I.P Rachel Corrie April 10, 1979 – March 16, 2003 https://x.com/R34lB0rg/status/1901329316039762010/photo/1
What do you think @fluglehrer_neu, @MentourPilot, @74Gear, @AvGeekJames, @Pilot_Dude ? https://x.com/R34lB0rg/status/1901192830875206085
Aviation’s safety arc is a testament to human ingenuity. Mechanical failures, once a daily gamble, now hit less than 1 in a million flights—modern airliners are engineering marvels with reliability exceeding 99.9%. Weather-related crashes, which plagued the early days, have dropped tenfold since the 1970s, thanks to radar, forecasting, and better routing. Even pilot error, the stubborn human factor, has been tamed by rigorous training, cockpit resource management, and automation like TCAS, slashing accident rates from 50 per million departures in the 1950s to under 1 today. By every metric—fatalities, incidents, hull losses—flying is safer than it’s ever been.
But this hard-won progress lays bare a chilling shift: the greatest remaining threat to planes and passengers isn’t hardware, weather, or honest mistakes—it’s malice. Deliberate acts by pilots, though rare, strike with devastating precision. Germanwings 9525 in 2015 saw a co-pilot lock out his captain and pitch an Airbus A320 into the Alps, killing 150. EgyptAir 990 in 1999 plunged into the Atlantic when a relief pilot pushed the yoke forward, taking 217 lives. MH370 in 2014 vanished with 239 aboard, likely due to intentional deviation—still a mystery. These aren’t accidents; they’re intent. In an era where systems fail once in a blue moon, a rogue pilot can undo decades of safety gains in seconds. Statistically, such events are a speck (~0.1% of incidents), but their impact—hundreds dead, billions lost, trust shaken—is seismic.
So, what’s the fix? Are we going to vet every pilot before each flight, probing their psyche daily for hidden fractures? Run mental health checks at the gate, hoping to catch a breakdown no one saw coming? Or do we trust an AI—immune to psychological disorders, tireless, and objective—to have our backs when lives are on the line? We say AI is the answer, and here’s how it can work.
Aviation’s safety curve nears perfection, but malicious intent bends it back. Daily vetting’s a pipe dream—pilots aren’t lab rats, and psych exams won’t catch every crack. AI can. Mandate flight data in ADS-B and satellite streams; deploy ground-based AI to monitor, flag, and empower ATC to act. Test it in simulators—prove it saves lives without shackling pilots.
Imagine the universe as a comic book page—except instead of flat ink on paper, we’re characters sketched across a three-dimensional "surface," oblivious to the extra-dimensional reality beyond our edges. Now picture that surface as the event horizon of a black hole, not in our familiar 3D space, but in a wilder, four-spatial-dimensional cosmos. This mind-bending idea might just rewrite the origin story of everything we know—and even explain why we’re here at all.
Black holes are already cosmic oddities in our 3D world. When a massive star dies, it collapses under its own gravity, forming a point of infinite density—a singularity—shrouded by an event horizon, a 2D sphere where light itself can’t escape. The dimensionality is key: the horizon is always one spatial dimension less than the space around it. So, in a universe with four spatial dimensions (plus time), a collapsing star would birth a black hole with a 3D event horizon—a hypersphere, curved and vast. What if that hypersphere is our universe? What if we’re living on the boundary of a higher-dimensional abyss?
This isn’t as far-fetched as it sounds. Physicists have long toyed with extra dimensions—string theory demands them, and brane cosmology imagines our 3D reality as a "brane" floating in a higher-D "bulk." But here’s the twist: instead of a brane, our 3D existence could be the fallout of a 4D star’s collapse. Picture it: a colossal star in this 4D realm implodes, its gravity warping spacetime into a black hole so massive its 3D horizon spans the scale of our observable universe—46 billion light-years across, give or take. The energy of that collapse doesn’t just vanish; it seeds a new reality—ours—etched onto that boundary.
Here’s where it gets juicy: this setup might solve one of cosmology’s biggest head-scratchers—why our universe is full of matter but almost devoid of antimatter. In theory, the Big Bang should’ve churned out equal amounts of both, only for them to annihilate each other into pure energy. Yet, here we are, made of matter, with antimatter a rare guest. In a 4D universe, the rules could differ. Maybe that parent star had an asymmetry—some quirk of higher-D physics favoring matter over antimatter. When it collapsed, that bias got locked into the 3D horizon, filtering our universe into a matter-dominated realm. We’d be like comic characters inheriting the ink of our artist’s pen, unaware of the 4D hand that drew us.
But wouldn’t a black hole evaporate? Stephen Hawking showed they leak mass via quantum radiation—virtual particle pairs popping up near the horizon, one falling in, the other escaping. Small black holes vaporize fast, but big ones linger. A cosmic-scale 4D black hole, with a mass matching our universe’s energy (think 10^53 kilograms), would be so cold—its "temperature" dwarfed by the cosmic background—that evaporation would take longer than the universe’s age. It’d stick around, a stable canvas for our 3D story. Or maybe the 4D realm feeds it, keeping our page from fading.
Spin adds another layer. A rotating 4D black hole (think Kerr, but upgraded) could twist its 3D horizon, mimicking the expansion we see in our universe. That accelerating stretch we attribute to dark energy? It might be the shadow of 4D gravity at work. We’d be flatlanders, sensing only the ripples of a deeper dance.
This idea’s a thought experiment, not a textbook fact—yet it echoes real science, like the holographic principle, which says a volume’s info can live on its boundary. Our matter, stars, and galaxies could be projections of a 4D reality we can’t peek into. It’s wild, sure, but it’s a reminder: the universe might be weirder than our 3D minds can grasp. Next time you stargaze, consider—you might be gazing across the edge of a cosmic comic strip, drawn by a 4D artist long gone.
"Since yesterday, I have been subjected to a vicious, coordinated, and dehumanizing doxxing campaign led by Columbia affiliates Shai Davidai and David Lederer who, among others, have labeled me a security threat and called for my deportation" -- Mahmoud Khalil, Mar 7 2025