personal atmosphere

The coefficiency of performance is the work consumed by the heat pump under the heat supplied to or removed from an atmosphere. Thus the process for heating and cooling an atmosphere are different. If the coefficiency of performance is cooling then the heat pump is consuming under the atmosphere, whereas if the coefficiency of performance is heating an atmosphere then the heat pump is working not only under the atmosphere but on the same level as the atmosphere. For the coefficiency of performance to maximize its performance it must act as a heat engine rather than a heat pump. Of course maximum efficiency is only theoretical, given the lack of personal control over a given atmosphere. It can be shown that the heat taken in by the hot atmosphere is over the the abolute temperature of the hot atmosphere; all that is the same as the absolute temperature of the cold atmosphere under all the heat given off by the cold atmosphere. To put it in simpler terms the coefficiency of performance, when heating, is the same as the abolute temperature of the cold atmosphere being taken away from the absolute temperature of the hot atmosphere all underneath the hot atmosphere’s absolute temperature. Given the information inverting it would be the ideal efficiency, beacuse a heat pump is merely a heat engine working in reverse. There is room for improvement and the resulting process is determined by the seasonal factors at work regardless of the lack of personal control over a given atmosphere.


It gives me an odd sense of community to breath in someone’s breath that flaps behind them like a white flag in the winter weather. The sun was spreading out a warm, golden morning light and the air was just the right cold temperature, with a dangled, almost frozen, dew humidly in the air—all creating an atmosphere of wordless dictations, of souls soundlessly speaking, of visible breathing. I tighten my mouth and nose as another someone’s breath whispers into my face. There’s a girl standing on a guy’s toes and their eyes are locked. Their breaths are swirling into each other’s faces, mixing, and they breathe in the mixture. I wonder if their eyes are fogging up, or if he can taste that mint on the edge of her mouth, or if he can sense that her breath is a little warmer & more robust, because her heart is beating against her lungs and her love is soaking into the inhalation. You don’t see that in the summer, or in the classroom. You don’t see this sense of community—swapping breath with complete strangers, breath that is soaked with who knows what. And now, after it was on the tip of their tongue, it hangs in the air a moment and you breathe it in, or it disappears and you wonder how many breathes you’ve been intubating, how many human hearts have gotten into you, leaving the residue of all humanity stuck to your insides. It really does give me an odd sense of community.