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In November 2017, Strava released its Global Heatmap, a stunning data visualization built from over a billion activities and trillions of GPS points logged by runners, cyclists, hikers, and other users worldwide. It's goal was to reveal global patterns of physical activity, from city trails to rural paths, using... show more
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![Longtime CNN correspondent Nic Robertson becomes emotional describing the blood-stained scene in Re'im, the site of the music festival where Hamas terrorists murdered hundreds, took people hostage, and raped women. "[W]e saw the line of cars and how they were shot up and how they were strewn across the road as people were trying to — trying escape and trying to save their lives and drive away. And — and next to that was one of those rocket shelters. There’s one just here, but there was one just there. And I went to have a look, and there were torn-up shoes outside and I could see bloodstains. And as I — as I went inside and this is why I wanted to speak it now because it — you know, being there, I'm trying to be professional and I’m trying to tell a story and bear witness to the barbarity and the callous, cruel, cold-blooded killing that Hamas was — was ripping on those poor, innocent young people. But that — listening to that conversation you were having there with John Kirby, it puts me at mind to explain physically what we saw. So, let me explain because the smell when you step into a shelter is kind of what hits you first. And you realize that this stuff on the floor is what you fear it is. It — it — it’s — it’s blood and you realize in an instant looking at the strewn shell casings on the floor, looking at the bullet holes in the concrete in front of you and you’re sort of — you can understand what happened that people were used to going to these shelters for safety and security from Hamas rockets and when Hamas was chasing them, they were hoping there was safety and security in these concrete bunkers. And, of course, there wasn't because we — we could see what happened. Hamas had gone in there with guns and — and quite literally shot them — this is a deployment of military hardware going by. I'm going to pause. Had — had quite literally shot them in calculated, cold blood as they were cowering there on the floor and the blood’s on the wall and the blood’s on the ceiling and the bullet holes are in the concrete wall. And you — you know in that instant how horrible and how terrible it was. And your conversation brought that back."](https://image.24vids.com/tw-1711496279858057557/ext_tw_video_thumb/1711496070755196928/pu/img/710OCQXa0T0QcdPS.jpg)
![David Lynch on using Roy Orbison's "In Dreams" in Blue Velvet (1986), and Roy Orbison's reaction to the film: Chris Rodley: "I’ve always assumed that ‘In Dreams’ was conceived as an integral part of the movie from the beginning. It seems conceptually essential to the story’s intentions and mood. Is that true?" Lynch: "‘In Dreams’ came about while we were in production for Blue Velvet. Kyle MacLachlan and I were on our way down to Wilmington, North Carolina, from New York City. We were going through Central Park on our way to the airport when over the cab’s radio came ‘Crying’ by Roy Orbison, and I’m listening to this song and I said, ‘That! I’ve got to get that for Blue Velvet. When I got to Wilmington I sent somebody out to get Roy Orbison’s greatest hits. I played ‘Crying’ and then I played ‘In Dreams’, and as soon as I did, I forgot ‘Crying’. ‘In Dreams’ explained to me so much of what the film was all about. I immediately called Dennis Hopper and told him about the scene I had in mind and that he had to memorize this song. Dennis and Dean Stockwell are old friends. Dean got together with Dennis to help him work out the song and memorize the lyrics. I wonder why! [Laughs.] So we finally got to the day we were going to shoot the scene in Ben’s apartment where Dennis was going to sing the song. We were rehearsing and Dean said, ‘I’ll stand here and kind of help Dennis if he needs it.’ So we started playing the music and both Dennis and Dean began to sing ‘In Dreams’. All of a sudden Dennis stops singing and looks at Dean — who’s continuing to sing. Dennis is solidly in character and he is moved by Dean’s (Ben’s) singing. There was the scene in front of me. It was so perfect. Once it was decided Dean would be singing ‘In Dreams’, another strange thing happened. I was going to use a small candle-style table lamp as the microphone. Dean knew the microphone was going to be a lamp of some sort and when he went over to the area of Ben’s apartment where we were going to set the song, thinking he saw the prop light, he picked up a work light that was hanging on a nail on the wall. He turned it on and flipped the long cord like a microphone cord and obviously it couldn’t have been more perfect. The strange thing is no one on the crew put that work light there. No one knew where it came from. Who can say how it happens?" Rodley: "The use of ‘In Dreams’ in that scene revived Roy Orbison’s career, but what did he think of the movie and the use of his music in it?" Lynch: "When Roy first saw the movie he didn’t like it. His song ‘In Dreams’ meant another whole thing to him, and it was, like, a precious thing. I think some people he respected must have gotten him to see the movie again and reconsider his feelings. Roy told me that when he saw the movie the second time, he got past what the song was for him and then could appreciate the fact that it was working in another way." — "Lynch on Lynch" (1997), edited by Chris Rodley](https://image.24vids.com/tw-2017709819717627913/ext_tw_video_thumb/2017709721981988864/pu/img/ZcGhR1Tq4i4KV9XN.jpg)
![I see the player you mean. PLAYERNAME? Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts. That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game. I like this player. It played well. It did not give up. It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen. That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game. Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen. They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons. What did this player dream? This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter. Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen? It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled]. It cannot read that thought. No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game. Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind? Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes. But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality. To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere. Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear. It reads our thoughts. Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream. And yet they play the game. But it would be so easy to tell them... Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living. I will not tell the player how to live. The player is growing restless. I will tell the player a story. But not the truth. No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance. Give it a body, again. Yes. Player... Use its name. PLAYERNAME. Player of games. Good. Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things. Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change. We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a player. The player was you, PLAYERNAME. Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away. Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience. Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story. Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third. Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen. Let's go back. The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body. And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream. And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love. You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love. Let's go further back. The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by... Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons". Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars". Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen. You are the player, reading words... Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive You. You. You are alive. and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream and the universe said I love you and the universe said you have played the game well and the universe said everything you need is within you and the universe said you are stronger than you know and the universe said you are the daylight and the universe said you are the night and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you and the universe said the light you seek is within you and the universe said you are not alone and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code and the universe said I love you because you are love. And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love. You are the player. Wake up.](https://image.24vids.com/tw-1685882264956043264/ext_tw_video_thumb/1685877579905900544/pu/img/yvnYvPPD0gu4wy-P.jpg)
