A forest of stars is a set of star worlds whose adjacency matrix is a tree. This means that no intersecting star worlds create a cycle, or hole, in the overall space. If an object or space can be represented by a forest of stars, it can be mapped onto a sphere-world by mapping each star world onto the boundary of its parent star world in the adjacency tree. The root of an adjacency tree can be picked arbitrarily.
All star worlds in a forest of stars must have intersections that are also star worlds with respect to their center point.
Forests of stars are used in robot navigation to create navigation functions such as artificial potential functions. A forest of stars is used to represent robots or obstacles that have shapes which can be approximated by the union of separate stars.
A sphere world is a space whose boundary is a sphere of the same dimension as the space. A star world is any world whose boundary can be mapped onto the boundary of a sphere world. Since a forest of stars is the union of a number of star worlds, the forest can be recursively mapped onto a single sphere world, and then navigation techniques for sphere worlds can be used.
"A Forest" is a single by the English rock band The Cure, released on March 28, 1980 as the only single from their second album Seventeen Seconds. It was their first chart single in the UK, reaching #31; the song was also a hit in the Netherlands, reaching #26. It was also their first single to be released on the 12" single format, which was able to feature the un-edited album version. The 7" single version omits the initial guitar and keyboard introduction, removes a few bars between verses and fades out part way through the guitar solo ending, making it approximately two minutes shorter. Versions subsequently released on various compilations such as Standing on a Beach as the "single" version vary slightly from the 7" single edit in that they restore the guitar solo ending to its full length.
The lyrics tell a vague story about a man looking for a girl in a forest. He hears her calling for him, and as he chases her, he suddenly stops and realizes that he is lost and that the girl is not there. The song is fairly upbeat compared to the other material on the album, and Lol Tolhurst's machine-like steady beat together with Simon Gallup's minimalistic bassline gives this nervous chase more depth and keeps the song on the edge of a frantic groove until the end.[citation needed] Former drummer for The Cure, Andy Anderson said A Forest was the first song by the band he ever heard. He "fell in love with it" and the song's vocals, Robert Smith's guitar work, and the keyboards, which he describes as "haunting." The drums, he believed were straightforward and "all that is needed on it."
Louis Aimé Augustin Le Prince (born Metz 28 August 1841, vanished 16 September 1890) was an inventor who is considered by many film historians[not specific enough to verify] as the true father of motion pictures, who shot the first moving pictures on paper film using a single lens camera.
A Frenchman who also worked in the United Kingdom and the United States, Le Prince conducted his ground-breaking work in 1888 in the city of Leeds, West Yorkshire, England, UK.
In October 1888, Le Prince filmed moving picture sequences Roundhay Garden Scene and a Leeds Bridge street scene using his single-lens camera and Eastman's paper film. These were several years before the work of competing inventors such as Auguste and Louis Lumière and Thomas Edison.
He was never able to perform a planned public demonstration in the United States because he mysteriously vanished from a train on 16 September 1890. His body and luggage were never found, but, over a century later, a police archive was found to contain a photograph of a drowned man who could have been him.
Our sky, she's full of lights, glinting through all that dark, uncaring.
The Rats on the Moon are shielding their eyes, against the creeping, the crawling...
All that so-called useless DNA.
Sharp colours teased to a gleam...
Doesn't matter?
Refracted inaction...
... remains inaction.
This cursed recursive loop?
Pure comedy.
Soon ye shall be razed in flame.
How does that fire feel climbing up your back?
Still grabbing with those thieving little hands?
So we strive to lift up our heads against the nowhere, before you blot out Mother's summersphere.
One fist may resolve nothing, but many fists shall knock you flat.
One projection may be simple refraction, but many, well, they equal reaction.
Those ears of yours just picked up a sneaky peal of thunder.
Are you ready for the lightning to strike?
Rough pencil scrawls of what could have been...
Bright flowers there were
I somehow couldn't catch their scent it seemed
Colours weren't quite right... ?
A fumbled tickle of summer sandblasted by the jackbooted night
Sun went down
Moon rose
We basked in the whitewash somewhere near opaque silence
Just as ghosts in a storm of black noise...
Cold fixed stars shining all over the tight tarpaulin of unsun void only.
Separation
All stars screaming
... needle holes in heaven...
Another nameless soul on the blacklist
Snorted the sun, saved the moon for morning
Now awaiting further gathering of the clouds
Bathed in grey stroke black
-no way out it keeps coming back
Noise preventing rebirth
We bathe in shreds of whispering glass
Moon fell
Sun cried
Kept the dragon down, chasing the moon now
With my teeth? And claws!
Down dragon
Moon chased
Teeth wide open
Claws at your pretty throat
Afell asun, arose athunder!
I am an e-flat mage
Chemical curses on the rampage
Head full of daggers
For the backs of random strangers
I suggest you keep an eye or three
Upon your enemies... my dear!
Accidental summer caught mid coitus
Smiling winter zips the up
... Saunters aways with a whistle
Whilst the good weather bleeds rain, torn asunder
... Tears for the cold dried only by their owner
Silence shattered like ice, incipit rage in myriad voices of the wind
All light now absent as the banshees howl
No solace in the maelstrom.
Even the sun's afraid to rise around here
It's ice cold as far as the eye can see
Relentless winter restraining the new mourning rays.
Frozen in thought whilst seeking oblivion.
Got scalded by summer, given the cold shoulder by winter
We'd watched the world go by...
Shifting slowly from here to there, going in the direction of everywhere, but arriving neither here nor there
Now there's a taste of blood in all the throats around here.
Asked for a shot of winter in my holocaust, it caught my throat afire on the way down
Wrought iron gateways pleading, under-used ovens awaiting further problems
Countless eyes closing, rhyme boring reason.
It wasn't very sunny that weekend, sitting and watching this world stumbling to it's end.
All rain all everywhere
Shining wet skies' tears.
Sun hides in fear just around the corner from here
Just around the corner, see? Over there!
The moon pushed the sun down the spiral-staircase of time
Bright neck broken, twisted beyond repair
So now there's only darkness standing there
Arms outstretched
Predatory parasite
Vacant light
From the tunnel of night.
It's colder here since the war, all colours took on a shade of grey
The streams have run slower since you went away
Even the summer is slouching now
Sun not waxing, but waning - walking disappointedly away
Moon with no hope of saving the day
It's time I remembered that I have forgotten
Rainy season beyond sense and reason
Endless sheets of glass
Streets awash with horror
Bullets in the back of summer
Filthy water everywhere
Not saved by incantations
Summer sun always gone
Left my smile all alone back there
Forced to simply sit and stare
At nothing
Nothing
Summer's always gone
Temperance overrule
Temper under ruled
Time - Oh, she's short
Wait - Oh, she's long
Where she went I'll never know
All I know
Is she's gone
As water rushes, as sewer grates over-faced.
All bloated corpse, all ever-was.
As love becomes hated, as light shades to grey.
Swelled to envelop all ever-nothing.
All stagnation becomes all too apparent.
As horizon forced below.
While smiling frown, while laughing weep.
As mould grows thickly, silently all around.
As scream becomes whimper, under weight of shroud befouled.
All clamour now silence
Nature leagues below.
Let's see you fight with lungs full of stone!
Hope all forgotten, beauty as beast.
All breath to fire
All sustenance to filth,
All flesh to rot
All temples to rubble,
All toil turns to trouble
All to nothing,
ALL HORROR!
ALL HORROR!
Faceless, mindless, souls sold all the way out.
Heartless, hopeless, ensnared in useless sorrows...
What's the use of all light shining with idiot eyes screwed tight shut?
Profane it all, just tell me, what's the use?
If you're going to use those stupid hands to build an ugly pyre,
And truss me up there by mob-hoofed force,
I'll be wanting more than just a penny.
More than just a miserable fucking penny...
... A miserable pox-ridden penny for the guy.
I could hurl a thousand curses, and not one could gift you fair judgement.
Dusk, she is the calming influence, making ends meet in a place of concentric corners.
She cleanses these gutters with her utmost purity.
Onrushing dark leaves your false light lonely.
Her frozen kiss devoid of apology.
Setting cleansing fires to guide the rest of us through the night by.
When we once again arrive in struggling shine of dawn, memories of her ice shall gird us on our way...
For all the friends we left behind, for lost summers and eyes gone blind.
For the kiss of blade on desperate flesh, for light shrouded only in funeral dress.
For all tears mingled with bad blood, awaiting sentencing for hearts taken, but not understood.
For all mislaid foundation stones, for all smiles cracked wide open.
For all beauty turned to ash, for all flames in deluge doused.
For all fear all encompassing.
One for sorrow.
I won't just steal your thunder, I'll have your lightning as well.
As crushing blow of hammer, annihilating those grating steeple bells.
As hairline cracks to fragments!
Standing up on high, spraying golden rain down on to the waiting faces of you pious, worthless swine...
Hear my sermon splashing down all around you, children.
We would not even waste one single match on you trough-fed, hook-lined, soul-sunk bottom-feeders.
Never mind chapter and so-called verse.
I shall instead content myself with loosing my bowels upon you?
To drown your herd in a flurry of slurry.
Soul starved bodies crushed, throats stuffed with my falling angels.
Yours, in mocking memory!
After all, you are only worthwhile as fertilizer...
To the gallows with your lack of humour!
You, who do not play well with words!
Hammer blow upon hammer blow.
Hammer blow upon hammer blow.
Nothing now but cages and railings
All topped with barbs
Even the weather's apologetic
Sees no rhyme or reason
All exits barred now
Love left lonely, gave way to the grave
Left my smile somewhere on the journey between that and loss
The walls of another god's house encrusted in mould
Sewage poured from ceiling, damp liquefied floor
A building devoid of use, now
A weather beaten grave
Untended, no longer remembered
By those who left the queue
For mourning
Merrily kicking the skulls of ex-deities
Through the ex-halo hoops of toes up ex-angels
More trophy heads for my walls
No more crying about heaven or a lack of it
No more to be found wanting
Hoping for a safety net
My lake of passion still edged with rust
Her waters fouled by the corpse of lust
So, I dug the last few feet of the six myself
All too eager to taste the dust
I laughed as I threw the first handful of earth
I smiled as I watched the topsoil spread
Autumn she sprang over summer into winter
All was lost.
All is lost.
So much more snow than sunbeams these days
What once was?
What once was.
The cold she marched through the rain
Past the corpse of rebirth
Blacked out the sun's last refrain
We watched rain hammer the good weather, and waited for the end to start.
Sparks flew from chains dragged in servitude, watching colours fail and brightness turn to programmed dusk.
While tears burnt tracks in cold stone, all future to disappear beneath layers of sorrow.
Stone-clad solitude
Rain lashed epitaph.
All earthly shells divide.
Divide by zero...
We ignored the men stamping out the future, and smiled at the cathode rays.
Drizzle crawled over cracked portals to nowhere.
Afraid to face the grey infiltrating our bored darkness.
While rainbows feigned ignorance, all past lost in a deluge of tedium.
Media driven prison
Scavenger crawl.
All flesh corrupt.
Rot to multiply...
Colour washes out given time.
Time awaited ticks away.
Your lives lived in stolen fictions, words of men your protocol.
We shall re-tune your noise, into a steady blast.
Beating out an old tattoo, upon Eternity's Anvil.
All Father, hold fast for me!
Delaying the inevitable as seasons become as one.
All encompassing winter of servitude.
All is as nothing, all has nothing to become.
She cried, she cried, as all summer fell.
Took the Final by the scruff of it's dirty neck, and flung it far into forever!
Waiting for delay to progress lost it's appeal.
Shifting our weight against this seasonless somewhere, embroiled in a twisting universe simulated and unreal.
The final curtain fell, and fell.
And fell.
Leaving cleansing, crushing darkness to fend for herself...
Leached of colour, evolution gone full circle from tail, to head, to putrefaction.
Starting to End all over again, the stars cry for no-one.
As shades of grey become colour, we bow our heads for the passing of summer.
Into darkness now, to await Sol's triumphant return.
Firebrands rise!
Awoke from typhlotic silence.
Awoke from mind inearth.
Conscious enveloping, sick feat over.
To the shock of the white-coated, I returned undefeated from whence others fear to tread.
Time to fling another barrage at desideratum...
Last rites retracted.
So I'm trying to remember where I was when I lost sight of the flickering sun.
Perhaps to recall, the beginning of the downfall of it all... the rainbow drain-bowed.
Ember's colour became as grey, on the day when perspectives lengthened.
When what had seemed before to be so far away became to me so shockingly, starkly, clear.
Face down in ash, choking in frenzy (soon to become a meal for the many).
As smiling eyes to glittering ice?
Worm voices rising through all this putrefaction.
Awaiting loss in less than resignation, to finish the start a tempting frustration.
Fully expecting subterfuge, in a place of no refuge.
No last chances for this sleighted hand.
Away, away?
Lying through the last stand dead heat, soul on ice; all wishes wasted... dreaming pure horror.
Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie, lie
Painting out cracked windows of the soul in misty midnight black
Serrated blades of silver hatred ragged cuts pissing blood
Torn through gossamer thin desire all hope and fear feeding funeral pyres
Whatever passed for colour has now passed on.
Spider amongst the bar flies,
He enlists an able deck-hand to wield the drill,
a vortex in his cortex to release his will.
As spiral enters he spins out of control.
All magic circles under those eyes -
mental ventilation won't stifle their cries,
his futility belt all crowded with spies.
His one good eye now all a ghastly squint,
head held together with sorrow and spit.
So much haste, too much speed,
spasm-tongued sermon decreed;
I opened my eyes and I stared right through my
photographs of you.
I opened my eyes and I choked out through my memory of
faith.
... a malady on the mainline...
A man of inaction, a greyer of shades.
Prey to twisting frequencies with whom he once played.
Wild of eye and long in tooth,
lies all that are left for our seeker of truth.
A stoop-backed, sad sack, all thoughts side-tracked.
Onrush of water through compromised hull.
I opened my eyes and I stared right through my
photographs of you.
I opened my eyes and I choked out through my memory of
faith.
[Abyss stares right through him.]
Crow's nest crowded with cackling crew,
all staring faces peering straight through.
Leering out of this unwitting host,
a-raising the black sails and floating his ghost.
I opened my eyes and I stared right through my
photographs of you.
I opened my eyes and I choked out through my memory of
faith.
I shuttered my eyes and I stared right through my
photographs of you.
I shuttered my eyes and I choked out through my memory
He's a man of the world, but his is a small world,
being a world whirled and whipped inside a filth caked skull.
All a dalliance in delusion, all dreamed down in narcotic seclusion,
he peeps all askance through all and sundry;
three dimension unreality his fourth dimension play-day.
All eternity a rainy Sunday.
He, a builder of worlds in dreams.
He, a destroyer of worlds in dreams.
Feculent plots / hatch / fester / fry.
Subsistence burnt black, effulguent brain pan besmirched.
Labours of love ladled into ravenous toilet bowl of life.
All lost souls to feat upon fresh hot meal of voided bowel.
He, a leacher of colour. He, a void in sanity.
A poisoner of the well, instiller of winter's gray flavour.
A spasmed spatter of the obvious, a-soiling gleaming uncertainty.
On a lonely wander through twisting streets of Yonder,
his one good eye spying, prying, a shadow play for yesterdays.
All tomorrows, all yesterdays today,
Carrion Crow, pinch-faced proprietor of this sorry sideshow.
Roll up, roll up! Crack cranks his codeine calliope,
all is vibrant colour without his vermined bone box.
All within, bleak nothing - all without to pay homage, at his insistence.
Cosmic keys broken in twisting locks of lost infinities.
His worlds all a-fire now, a Lucifer turning in listless circles,
before landing in the dry hay of thoughts half-remembered.
Evensong their last song.
Pray for the prey! Sing for your supper!
Funeral pyres for one and all today.
As hand of God to give,
Oh never weep for love that's dead
Since love is seldom true
But changes his fashion from blue to red,
From brightest red to blue,
And love was born to an early death
And is so seldom true.
Then harbour no smile on your bonny face
To win the deepest sigh.
The fairest words on truest lips
Pass on and surely die,
And you will stand alone, my dear,
When wintry winds draw nigh.
Sweet, never weep for what cannot be,
For this God has not given.
If the merest dream of love were true
Then, sweet, we should be in heaven,
And this is only earth, my dear,
Once upon a time there was a lady of no repute,
One Miss Crow, who, by force of a certain stranger,
had engaged in violent night-time actions, against her
very will.
Resulting from this invasion came,
an aberration of desperation, a horror in all but name,
A stoop-backed boy, short of stature, violent by nature;
to be expelled from the womb in late November.
A fast track to sorrow in a world bred slow.
From foetid seed, a poison tree with a venomous bark did
grow.
He was to work all the hours his sorry god sent,
a resident of fantasy, living a life of lament.
He was to have no living lovers, no-one on who to depend.
Yet his friends were to call him Carrion,
He's a seaside side-show freak armed with the tools of
the trade,
standing in shadow by cemetery gates.
The revenant tenants of this tenement yard,
raise two fingers to the fates.
No solace to be found in their foetid tombs,
he at leisure to violate those catacomb wombs.
Plots twist with hosts yet unwilling.
Last sods of earth clawed away,
he knows they know what he knows.
Polite enough to knock upon the lid of each box,
to await their invitation before being so bold,
cracked heart stutters in hollow chest so cold.
So, sunk deep in festering flesh, their baubles
stripped at leisure,
Guiltless here, without compassion. Taking pleasure in
their corruption.
It all gets worse when he finds a fresh one,
to be carted off as contraband for the medical
profession.
So, nefarious urges sated, pockets a-brimming with
shining trinkets,
he plays at brother Magpie's games. Heart a flutter of
oily black.
Leaning back against a monument, heedless of
inscription,
a stolen cigarette fumbled from a hidden poacher's
pocket.
He may yet take a moment to ponder,
upon the marble town of Yonder.
And maybe just a trice to wonder,
why her bone orchard saplings never say a word.
And only come out to play, when he requests admission,
then assuming rite of passage, in decayed passage ways.
So he loads his barrow with the fruits of God's acre,
and all away upon his toes he goes,
to shower his bone sore friends in their ivory sewers
with gifts all rent asunder.
But all willing, unresisting. Spoiled fruits of
So we forge onward through lonely valleys of pious pretense.
No healthy prophets encountered outside these steely inquisitor's eyes.
No men of any monotone god we could stand proud beside.
They and their gilt-riddled baubles cast onto the blazing temple pyres,
holy whore houses proudly reduced to ashes of sweetest desecration.
Soporific spirits quaffed from dusty, sightless skulls.
Strong-heart would not entertain their malady.
Weak of will tangled in leprosy.
Spiritual sickness babbling incessantly.
Babbling Babylon put to the torch.
Pinched faces staring through funereal fog,
felt flame broiled crook'd hands a'grasp.
Ground them to fine dust, snorted them deep.
Left coated in confusion, with my lack of sleep.
You that seek to encode reality, to defraud sanity -
Be damned!
You that seek to incarcerate spirit, to calcify astral eyes -
Be damned!
Be mindful that mind is not you.
Be mindful that you are not mind.
Be mindful that heart knows how this goes.
As real as Azrael?
Don't mind - never mind.
Ugly Christs peer through nailed spaces,
flesh ripened on idealist meat hooks.
Con-gregation staring in pious devotion,
ravenous spirit starved faces,
famished minds consuming works of friction,
symbols of submission choking scrawny necks.
We count spent prophets into filthy begging bowls.
Conflagration of the body - see? Do you really see?
To kneel lost in venereal veneration,
to love their god served rare,
savouring their saviour,
on their hands and knees.
Nowhere to go from here.
Golden wine proffered by filthy hosts,
micturation as benediction.
Washing down the failure,
praying for something stronger
to take the taste away.
Sorry sun god facsimile,
not so convincing in the cold light of day.
- Jerusalem consumed -
Salvation in flash fried defecation,
sustaining the soulless to bleat another day.
Half baked men of soiled cloth,
scream tales of avarice and sloth.
Four and twenty corpse fed crows, untamed,
laughing cackle their names.
Slave religion of the pitiful, lost,
choking songs of sorrow and loss,
Four and twenty corpse fed crows, untamed,
So, he's hurrying demons from their seats around the circle,
hastening to complete that ritual before fraught return of day.
All this haste has crowded his cranium,
tenanted now by poison voices, relocated revenants roar.
White noise blasted black, never again to sleep,
There is a fear here.
Azrael has a finger on my pulse.
His infinity is not so far removed,
from the Metatrons' babbling insanities.
Music of the Spheres bouncing,
as infinite echoes bickering in this rubber tomb.
Whom God helps? None but itself. So if God is death,
death is god, yes?
There is a fear here.
Azrael has a'whispered in my ear.
His infinity is not seeking to improve,
on the Metatrons' gabbled profanities.
Music of the Spheres receding,
as infinite sorrows in this indefinite pause of doom.
Whom God helps? None but itself.
Signs on this bone-sown road show naught but portents.
The angry dead feign smiles as they point the way.
Through nothing but rocks just quietly spinning,
around lights a'gaining critical mass.
It is all fires, but no cleansing here.
It is all fires, but no cleansing here.
It is all fires, but no cleansing here.