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I'm always riding on knowledge or wondering why I really need it, why I should acquire it.
I repent for questioning why I need it.
Then I rebel in questioning why I need it.
Learning a lot of math without doing problems is like receiving a lot of instructions before trying to carry them all out.
In this sense inventing new math is the same condition as creating a company.
But the question remains: what service can I provide that current math cannot provide?
In my search, it borders on believing a formula can actually solve something without observing it in reality.
This would create a break between the real world and the world of the mind - the mind taking precidence.
Math here would become a novelty much like so many services today.
The mind without the universe is a novelty.
It would see the parts of the universe that were not seen as novel, now become novel themselves.
It would have to entice people to use this novelty, either in thought, word, or practice.
Therefore inventing math is just like salesmanship.
What can I sell the (parts of) universe off to you as?
Life revolves around water, food, clothing, shelter, and some type of computer.
But the universe centers on matter, light, and space.
Chemistry and quantum physics tells me of matter.
Electrodynamics tells me of light.
General relativity and the positive Grassmannian tells me of space.
To out sell these five monopolies I would have to come up with something great.
It is due to mathematicians' and scientists' observations that these monopolies are so powerful.
So much has been observed that it's hard to observe anything apart from them, or to even put them out of my mind.
Let's say I had gone through all the pedagogy, would I just become more satisfied with what already is, just as I've abandoned inventions of electronics after getting the degree and three years of self-study?
Now formally believing that electronics is too complicated to entertain a "new electrodynamics".
"New electrodynamics" becoming a watchword for the novice.
Wouldn't "new physics" or "new math" also seem similar after all is said and done?
But inventions usually come about by people using or doing something and figuring out a better way to do them.
Not by thinking about something until there is a better way to think about something.
Electronics became devoid of hope for change because what I already knew of it became so central to the world and yet still so awesome.
When my rank depends on a system, their is little impetus to change it.
Therefore, my dependence on innovation seems to depend on holding no rank in math and physics.
As one songwriter said, "If you have to or try to write a song, it will be crap, but if a song comes to you, it could be really good."
The same applies to "inventions" in STEM, despite what years of hard work has proven, it is always the truly inspired ones that make the new vision.
I feel my burden is lifted.
Archer Feb 2020
I built a fortress in my mind
To keep me safe from people like you
I would call out to them from my barred windows
Wave and smile
Some would try to come in
Finding the door locked
And no answers to their inquiries
They would usually trudge away
Saddened by the rejection
Some would knock louder
Shout and holler
Some would search for other entrances
Being mortared and bricked long ago
They would lose interest and disappear
This is my home
There is no welcome mat
No glowing lanterns
No jovial voices wafting out from inside
Nothing enticing an approach
How did you find your way in
Please tell me
Oh the mess you made
Will take years to restore
Things broken into a trillion minute pieces
Can never be fully cleaned up
Where is the weakness in my home
I must find it
I have searched for weeks
Crawling around with a candle for light and heat
With nothing more to show for my efforts
But bloodied knees
And the slivers from my shattered life
Impaled in my palms, now raw and lacerated
The rooms have a stench
Musky tapestry, burnt wood
Tears, shame, walnut and oak
Maybe it always stunk in here
But it was at least livable
Which is more than I can say about it now
Why have you done this
You invaded my home selling promises of love
And fair weather
Cheap sales tactics from a desperate soul
But I bought them
All of them
Without question or warranty
Now as I survey the damage
I realize I need to find that fault in my castle
Not to do as I bellowed I would
Not to close it off to you
And to anyone else clever enough to find and exploit it
But to use it for my own escape
The hills look beautiful from here
I've always wanted to explore them
Lush greens and rolling grasses
Yellow flowers and white fluffy clouds
I need to vacate this premises
Most think I keep this place shut
Blocked off to all, willfully
But the truth is
I destroyed the key long ago
In a blind rage
Not anticipating I would ever want to leave
I am my own prisoner
My own cruel warden
A place I built for safety and comfort
Now offers none of the fore mentioned
Only a cruel reminder of what I once was
And what I will surely become if I don't leave here
Going door to door
Selling lies and pain
Masquerading as hopes and dreams
Lurking around  
Looking for holes to skulk my way in
Rapping on their entrance ways
Announcing a salesman has arrived
Longer but has meaning to me
Laokos Jun 2019
knock, knock, knock*

I open my door
and am immediately
greeted by
three 19 year old elders.

They want to talk to me
about Jesus and
their version of
a sacred text and I want
to talk to them about: God,
Philosophy, Religion,
Art, Music, etc.

but I just put a greasy
pan on med-high
heat to cook some
bacon and it's
filling my apartment
with smoke.

Yet, my curiosity of
these creatures at
my door temporarily
supersedes kitchen
safety protocols,
so I start to oblige
them and even
entertain some light
discourse in the

I begin to explain my
perspective when
my attention skips back
to the pan
and the hot metal
smell tickling my nose.

-protocols back in place-
I decline their invitation
to visit their temple, now
or any time in the
future, then shake
their hands.

I accept a pamphlet
from the last one,
"The Plan of Salvation",
after he scribbles a
phone number on
the back.

I wish them luck
and close my door
without locking it,
stride over to the skillet
and take it off
the burner.

Good thing I removed
the batteries from
all the smoke
Melody Mar 2019
Melancholy bliss are your breaths,
Romances a heart straight to exile
Leaving only your desolation,
Death ain’t got a dime on you.

The salesman of disillusions
Happily shredding logic
Greedily you give all we loath

To observe,
An impending demise
As grace gives way on your grasp

Effortlessly Collecting pearls
Coming afloat our seas,
For your own vanity.

Melancholy bliss are your breaths,
Romances a heart straight to exile
Leaving only your desolation,
Death ain’t got a dime on you.
Thank you for reading loves.
Brandon Conway Jul 2018
You found me broken and in a mess
You came in as if a traveling salesman
You knocked on my chest to see if it was vacant
You didn't take no for an answer
You sold a potion I desperately needed

Your compassion and love healed and rebuilt
Your hands reassemble this skeletal mess
Your eyes saw the best of what was inside
Your teeth and tongue assuaged  
Your body so titillating

Time passes

I no longer need the product that you were so adept at selling

Always one step ahead
In order to sell more
I had to break down

You secretly created tragedy
You shakespearean
You left me the way I was found
You came knocking again
You charlatan

A fool and his money eh?
Or is it me that is selling a product?
(Song for the Genteel Salesman Blocking My Path Each Time)

If only you knew.

Beneath blonde, rebonded locks
Curled extroverted lashes
Cemented titanium dioxide
Plastered patient breathless pores

Nose elongated,
Dark strokes  imprudent
Cleopatric windows to
Sadness of soul.

Maverick femininity in
Saccharine swan-like greeting

If only you knew.

Eden was perfect paradise
She who was crafted
Immaculately from your rib

She was your Soulmate
You were Beloved
Protector, keeper,
Nourisher of her being

If only you knew.

You are treasured by Him
Who fashioned you
Out of mud
Breathed life into your nostrils

From nothingness
You were imago dei.

You were anointed shepherd
Of all that lived
Moved; slid.

You were perfect
Majestic  in Truth

You were imago dei

As you should have been
And can still be.
Brent Kincaid Apr 2016
His owner didn't quite know why
Maybe asthma or an allergy,
Maybe it was a cough or even a sigh.
He was a cat and that was no mystery.
He looked like a normal pet,
Colored just like a giraffe,
But, often at the strangest times
He made a sound just like a laugh.

One day a salesman came to call.
Bliggle's owner was a widow.
And sitting with Bliggle by her side
They watched him through the window.
The salesman knocked, she let him in,
He looked at her and Bliggle.
He told her all about his wares.
And the cat began to giggle.

The man went red and sweaty faced
And waved his hands and told her
She must buy his 'Whizzyclink'!
He would stay there until he sold her.
The widow said she didn't care
If the thing cost a buck and a half.
She wouldn’t buy the kind of gizmo
That could make a kitty cat laugh.

The salesman fumed and shouted then
So she opened up the door.
The salesman went all afluster,
Then he stomped across the floor.
The spoilsport then cursed at her
And called her 'an old bat',
And in his rage and fury
He tripped over Bliggle the cat.

Not hurt at all, the cat just sat
And stared at him awhile.
The salesman gathered up his goods
And Bliggle slowly smiled.
The salesman soon gave up his trade,
He could not live down the rumor,
That he lost his art to pitch a sale
To a cat with a sense of humor.
Liam C Calhoun Jun 2015
My head’s drenched,
I lack an umbrella.
My clothes are soaked,
I lack a jacket.
My chin’s to the puddles,
So my brow drags the oil
And I’d crack if I had to smile,
If I had to say, “thank you,”
Just one more time
Under rain, under shame, and the
Laughing gods above.

With a sliver of scorn,
I do muster one more
“Thank you,”
As I’ve got my pay;
Cashed my last inch of dignity
And quickly lost
When I do the math and see
That I’d spent more on gas
As opposed to what I line my
Pockets with –
Lint and little more.

With a dwindling fuel,
Both in belly and beast,
I leave for the ends of existence
Knowing full well,
I’d return, I’d come home,
And when I can’t have food
I steal this simple moment,
A special kind of sustenance wherein –
I don’t want to see my wife,
My brother, or my mother.
I don’t want to see anyone or anymore.
* I'd eventually made my way, "away."
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