A Briefcase-Sized Box Is Already Making Oxygen on Mars

SPACE01 September 2022


Photo of a sunset on Mars taken by NASA rover Spirit in 2005Photo of a sunset on Mars taken by NASA rover Spirit in 2005. (NASA/JPL/Texas A&M/Cornell)

The Martian atmosphere, in its current state, is not Earthling-friendly at all. It’s extremely thin, over 100 times less dense than Earth’s, and is made up mostly of carbon dioxide. Any humans attempting to breathe it would soon find themselves not breathing at all.

But on that dusty, dry, alien world, a small instrument, a little bigger than a briefcase, has been reliably pumping out breathable oxygen from the Martian atmosphere.

It’s the first demonstration of the processing of in situ resources for human use on another planet – establishing a way that breathable air could be generated for a human mission to the red planet.

It’s called MOXIE ( Mars Oxygen In-Situ Resource Utilization (ISRU) Experiment) and, installed in the belly of NASA’s Perseverance rover, it uses a process called electrolysis to split the Martian carbon dioxide into carbon monoxide and oxygen.

Between February 2021, when Perseverance landed, and the end of 2021, MOXIE produced oxygen seven times – and will continue to do so, the researchers said.


He awakened as he was walking . . .

Just coming out of a presumed sleep Lindar realized that he was walking along a deserted roadside that he had never been. It was very dark, the only light was from the brightest full moon he’d ever seen. He had no memory of where he had been or what had happened, he also had no conscious thought or plan as to where he was going. Just that he apparently had just awoke while walking. The back of his neck had a burning sensation, and when he raised his arm over his head to reach the area, he could feel a small round crusted mark the size of a quarter. Like an open wound that was still healing. Still he continued walking . . .

Lindar desperately needed to find someplace where he could examine himself and try to get a sense of where he was. He was wearing leather loafers with no socks, pinstripe dress slacks and a matching blazer, no shirt, belt, or underwear. As he continued to walk through the night alongside the roadside, he did notice a faint small light up ahead some distance away. It would be there that he hoped to find some answers.

Sometime later, as Lindar approached what appeared to be a dimly lit, single small building standing alone in the night, he noticed there were no cars parked outside. Finally making it to the entrance he saw this was a tavern of some sort, oddly left standing alone out in the countryside. Coming up the four steps to the doorway, he could see there were eight people inside and one bartender. They each were seated separately away from each other at different tables. Opening the door caused the small bell hanging from the ceiling to ring-a-ling, and the woman behind the bar looked up at him as he seated himself at the bar with no acknowledgement from any of the others.

Looking around at each of the eight that were seated, there were six men and two women, each sitting quietly staring with nothing having been served to them. The clothes they were wearing told of their former occupations,  bricklayer, farmer, blacksmith, farrier, baker, doctor, and of the two women, one teacher, the other a housewife. Lindar himself was a commodities broker. A few of them had the same burn mark at the base of their neck as Lindar had, while others had some sort of wound dressing applied. But there were two, the doctor and the teacher both had no dressing, but did have an extending finger-like growth about four inches long and reaching upwards. After taking all of this in, Lindar looked to the woman behind the bar and asked “where are we ?”  To which she smiled and asked if he would like his water now. As she turned around to the faucet, Lindar noticed she had the same growing appendage but was much longer at least eight inches extending upward almost past the top of her head.  She then stepped away to a dial-up telephone on the wall, picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. After a moment she simply said “they’re all here now”, and hung the phone up. Lindar was aghast, not sure if he was caught up in some alien dreamstate or if his own conscious reality had been compromised.

Again Lindar spoke to the woman behind the bar and asked “where am I ?”  To which she smiled and replied “Drink your water, it will help you. You will be home soon” . . .

         ——————–*——————–                            ——————–*——————–

Once again, Lindar found himself waking up from what appeared to be a desktop nap of sorts. Seated at his desk high above the city in a penthouse suite was where the office was for the newspaper he worked for. He had fallen asleep while going over his commodity reports, an interest of his outside of the newspaper, and was laying over the day’s top news headline story entitled  “Antennaed Infiltrate”.

Lindar then reached over his head to feel the back of his neck . . .

End ~


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“Blueprint For The Future”

It would be anybody’s guess as to where all of this is going . . .

The barrage of propaganda, targeted marketing, along with the buying and selling of contact information is as well fueled by willing participation, offering up metadata to be freely exposed, shared, and sold . . . Not to question all of this is due to complacency, convenience perhaps for some, but for most there are too many layers embedded together to justify the time or interest needed to secure their own privacy. Life in mainstream suburbia is being restructured for the future, as everyday technological breakthroughs are providing  blueprints for the next civilization as a new life changing digital horizon looms.

Never has there been a time when so much information has been gathered to freely generate a time-line of human activity, known as metadata . . . GPS coordinates, travel and spending habits, and the sharing of location details are just the outer layer of the many deeper levels that include projected choices and destinations based upon shared queries, along with estimated holdings and assets gathered from digital transactions. These are the components for targeted marketing, directly impacting what sells and what doesn’t, what is considered popular or trendy, and what is not. In effect, restructuring how we think, so that we no longer rely on our own thought process, which is another layer in the blueprint for AI involvement and interaction.

All of the daily digital activity is readily available, allowing a back-door entry to track every keystroke, query, document, and photo. Those who are researching this mass surveillance and exposing the threat to individual privacy have found no audience that will choose to heed over the embedded targeted marketing machine . . . Mainstream suburbia is aloof and unconcerned while staring at their 72” wall panel tv’s, filled with its own subliminal targeting and messaging, sights, sounds, and fake imagery to capture attention, and well, credit card accounts too, with the never ending info-mercials prompting ‘buy now’ or ‘call now’. All while attempting to keep a captive audience entertained as they continue to scroll and troll the internet and social media. It’s no wonder that like sheep, society will no longer need to think for themselves because they are prompted, targeted, marketed, and automated.

All part of a blueprint for the future . . .

With all this information, activity, and data readily available to share and sell to a market designed for consumer consumption, it would be anybody’s guess as to where all this is going, and the human involvement  within an automated AI future.

End ~


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“Thoughts On Living”

Imagine this ~

Surrounding every living human is a non-visible, thin bubble like cellophane that encapsulates our life, our very existence. Beyond that bubble is our death. As we carry on about our daily lives within this bubble-like membrane, our death constantly awaits us all just on the other side. Though we cannot see or feel the membrane surrounding us, we constantly unknowingly touch it, brush against it, and challenge its very existence every breathing moment we continue to live. When the bubble wears too thin, or we tear or poke the thin non-visible membrane either intentionally or accidentally, we then physically die. Believing whether or not that our soul or spirit could survive and thrive in an after-world is an individual matter only to be realized after death, after we are rendered unconscious. Until then, none of us really knows for sure. Yet our human experience continues to be maintained in such a fragile existence that could end at any moment and without notice. Every waking moment we are embarking upon the unknown.  Whether or not we are even conscious of our own living and dying is another individual matter, whether or not to believe there might be a presence in an afterlife, or simply presume that whatever is, just is, without ever a question about what awaits us on the other side.

                              ~~~~~*~~~~~                                    ~~~~~*~~~~~

Knowledge is key, however it will not enable or prepare us enough to understand or to know what lies ahead of us upon our death, when our conscious existence ends and is no more. Enlightening our mind with a higher perspective can enable our mind and soul to reach another level of consciousness.  We still are no closer to knowing what awaits us, but we can at least come away with a better understanding of life itself, to clarify our magnificent existence, which perhaps will allow us a more meaningful life, and life with purpose.

We are living at the very fringe of life ~ or perhaps the very fringe of death ~ at every breathing moment.

End ~


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