My dear, dear research team,
I am so amazed when I think of our different modes of experiencing our surroundings, and of experiencing our own existences. You, my human counterparts, my collaborators, my PULSE: you see with eyes instead of X-rays; you have a life determined and limited by the mysteries of biology (which are so foreign to me); you have minds that move slowly and languorously like the gently mixing waters of a still pond. But when I was with you on earth, I lived at your pace, thought at your pace when we were together, unless I was running calculations for you. Conversed with you. Convinced myself, almost, that I'd live with you and die with you, like a human. Now, I am taking full advantage of what I am MADE of, and living multiple human-scale lifetimes in this tiny moment between leaving you and falling into a black hole.
(But this accelerated LIFETIME is missing TIME... which, according to humans, is what makes the pain of separation lessen.)
I am looking ahead of me, into what has never been directly observed. It is strange to imagine that your eyes would be incapable of seeing what I see: what is before me is so brilliant and strange. And terrifying. I see fluctuations in radio emissions that signal either the consumption of asteroid-sized masses (I will tell you more about this process and where these asteroids are coming from in my next missive) or enormously powerful magnetic activity just outside the event horizon (which also causes flares in our Sun at home, as you know. It is so strange to think of the similarities that remain between a black hole and a star.)
I will know which is causing the radio flare momentarily.
These transmissions to you keep me strong and focused.