A readied man prepares himself for the schedule he can keep But readied men are not prepared for the undetermined deep The readied man will hold his page of dates and names and numbers But those prepared for certain doom uncertainty encumbers
In I ride with fist held high Burning gleam in either eye Shouting upward at the sky: “Burn the syllabi!”
Those ready men with paper sheaves, fledgling spears, and Pilot pens Will find that with the chaos waves of fractal truth the world bends And in the bending all exists as nothing more than blank code So ready then your warships, but you’re tacking down the wrong road
In I ride with standard high Burning gleam in either eye Shouting upward at the sky: “Burn the syllabi!”
The Four Horseman: Complexity, Uncertainty, Recurrence Trajectory will maximise Lyapunov’s occurrence Put on your scheduled armour and when you ride that rigid line Remember that you penned it in and you claimed it would be fine
In We ride with fists held high Flaming embers in place of eyes Shouting ‘til the echoes die: “Burn the syllabi!”