On the busy floor
of life and death
stood a man
Against the odds
this man stood
A slender man
A well groomed man
Who wore a coat
A coat of wool
A sheep's coat.
Against the odds
This man stood
among the wolves
He held an umbrella
in his hand.
it stopped not rain
it stopped not sun
of the volatile weather
but in his hand
the man held
against the odds
in volatile weather
wearing his coat
his sheep's coat
among the wolves
on the busy floor
of life and death
against the odds
as he traded to the final bell
The Stockbroker of Life and Death
Probability isn’t the luck it deserves for wanting desperately to be noticed by any appeals. Generating new focuses never thought possible. If so… Who is the recipient? Who is the lawmaker? Who being the justice department? Goods to making essential markers on productive velocities. Justification is outweighed by department alone. Growing ever scarcer without benefiting attitudes in place. Conjecturing solvent pleasures across many fields. Fields of accessory dependents ensuring a collective term is agreeable. Except, what if probability is outweighed not by something further from its own attitude? What if it can’t benefit itself? In question, becoming misshaped, mispronounced, or misinterpreted. Depending on who’s right, or who’s wrong shouldn’t matter until claims are assured. Propagating across the many fields of accessory dependents. Dependents outweighing the logic one is misshaped by. Demonstrating probabilities mispronouncing sense of terms for oneself. Wrapping up in a crumbled conjecture. Propagating a newer field of already surveyed products. Truth is in the stream that propagates those fields. Accessory moments dependent on gaining tension through the rise of the recipient. That’s the only way probability will ever learn. Hence why it shuts down if it ever involved itself. Itself without its own recipient. Its own justice department. Lawmaker without any dependent ideas would ever appeal to its own logical making, if it’s never dependent on itself. Only flashing the accessory dependent on other influences. Influences going way down the line of certainties without pleasure. Urges relapse. Furthering its own clustered rut! One without mistakes diverging deeper into uncertainties. Taking risks isn’t noticeable. When probability taking risks enough to (blush) down the line of certainties without an aim involved. Scattering their rut from within. But how does it involve probability? It doesn’t. Probability is the representation of how one constant judge itself for pleasure. When pleasurable actions are dependent with a blank impression never sought out. To focused on probability. When probability isn’t fruitful by its own design either. Only way it works. Never looking back in itself. A reflection of tempted attitudes fluttering in a swift, but rigid wind. Wind never tempted by its own sway. If one is to admit what they aren’t even aware of changing. Another shutdown happens! Justifications for probabilities own reckoning depends on other solvents. Solvents who don’t even understand the probabilities of there own life makings. Able to learn what is dependent onto others. Never within themselves directing their starry performance. What happens when things are finally noticeable within probabilities that will exceed probable actions of the force that dictates fates majority complexes? Complexes without variety. Varieties misshaped by mishappenings of trust. Which includes a basic awareness of some factor never hesitating to judge within the core of being itself. A view fate designs in its weapon of probability very well. What is fate up to…? Never can guess when probability shuts down all appliances out of contact with no one but itself left in the dark. Probability is. Everything has just become disowned. Fate exchanging glances with itself for one last second, before rapping up this little diverse expression. Pinpointing its weapon of probability without knowing why that is? Hinting at fate not being the only recipient to follow in its weapons obstructed desires.
Probability without luck is forever undetermined. Having faith in itself, will redeem the actuality of actions placed without words. Luck? Faith? Lots of hints one hasn't fully realized.
A life away
You intertwined our fingers
And whisper, this is fate
It cannot be by chance.
But little do you know,
There is no guiding hand
We are a combination
Of one path that we took
And the rest that were not taken
And in this very moment
I read a book in a café
I watch a movie from my bed
I ski across the Alps
I breathe your scent
Mingled with the aromas
Of coffee, sleep and freshly packed snow
And of many, many more
The braid made by our fingers
Is duplicated countless times
Through all these permutations
The odds were therefore in our favor
Alas, no mysticism here
What you call fate, is chance
The guiding hand of nature.
The 8th installment in this series of poems inspired by physics (for background, see the first in the series).
Fun fact: In my native tongue, "fate" and "chance" are expressed by the same word (an auto-antonym).
For further reading: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fokker%E2%80%93Planck_equation
(this is an awfully technical description to my taste, that misses the essence and philosophy of the theory - I may rewrite it on wikipedia somday)
Thoughts and comments are always welcome
They say 2+2 = 4.
But 2 +2 = 5 is also right.
What is 2?
Is two two? Or is it two?
Does two two have to equal 4?
or does two two can be two three?
Albert Einstien said otherwise.
Thats why he died.
****** said yes.
Thats why everyone hates him.
For Dr. J. J. Manukal IXVIX, my calculus professor At Brown's Plumbing School. He always inspired me to think and live beyond life's boundaries.
I dream of a dream that dreams of me
And in this dream is only me.
Only me, and yet it seems,
This dream begins so differently.
A man is standing where I stood
Beneath a lamp post wearing a hood.
I approached this man to understand
Who this man could be.
I remove the hood just to see
This unknown man is actually me.
Me in every way, and yet, in every way, he's not.
Same face and eyes
But it was the details that gave me the most surprise.
Like looking in a ***** mirror,
The imperfections were growing clearer,
This me that isn't me.
From the void beyond the lamp
Came more of me.
Me with scars.
Me with blue eyes.
Me with long hair.
Me, a female.
Me, a radical.
Me with apathy.
Me with confidence.
Me, missing limbs.
Me, me, me.
All of me here at the same time,
Separated by choices we made
Or choices made for us.
We all looked into our familiar stares
Awaiting answers that never came.
An endless sea of me
With so many possibilities,
But we all go separate ways.
I hate fate
All it's secrets
All it's uncertainty
Ask for flowers
You get weeds
Ask for love
You get regret
Ask for strength
You get weaker
Ask for patience
You waste time
I hate fate
All it's tricks
All it's games
I probably like you today
But I never know what’s the future will hold
I probably love you tomorrow
But the past is always lingering
The existence of us lied purely on conditional probability
The probability that event A will happen with the knowledge that event B has already happened
And if you asked me why I kissed you
I would tell you I liked when our probability was me over you
With your hands laying tangent to my curves
I kissed you as much as I wanted and as much as I could
If you asked me why I kissed you goodbye
Even though you were not mine
It was because time is only ever ticking away
And if I run out of time
I can’t kiss you
The probability of you calling me beautiful was a 0.25 on the qualitative spectrum
But you did and your voice sounded like honey
sticking to the heartstrings in my chest,
filling in the cracks,
it was sweet
Our probability quickly shifted from me over you to 1 over 6
very likely to unlikely
and the conditional probability of you leaving seemed to take over any set equation
I saw the curve in your lips decay faster day by day
The eyes that I tried so hard to catch mine
Don’t even make the effort to look in my direction
And the honey you left in my chest turned sickly
And it’s been there so long I think I’m attracting bees
I lay my hands flat on your chest
and I am touching you because I can’t help it
because time is only ever ticking away
And I’m crying
Why am I crying?
The memories are rushing back
Your hand on my thigh in that blue dress
Your arm around me in the parking lot
I remember it was warm and you were talking to my mother
You always had the charm to make me dance
and that night I felt you in my bones
50/50 I thought we were 50/50
Now I’ve always preferred chemistry
And we felt like a combustion formula
But we were just probability and statistics
And I’ve always hated math
Smiles, tram cars, stinging eyelids
Transparent brittle shards,
Ashes finding water surface
All of this onto a palm
Locked into a fist
I’m the coin that’s landing on its rim
The odds were slim and yet
I am standing on a grin
The third side says that
Karma always wins