Numerous number systems beyond the real:
complex numbers, octonions, omnions which can eat whole black
It's axiomatic that your personal history, preferences, how you feel
account for nothing at all.
$30 buys a flock of chickens for a needy family (International Rescue
$29 gets a girl a school uniform (CARE), for $300 you can stock a fish
pond (Heifer International)
$69 can start a female entrepreneur in the sewing business (Mercy
$5 will buy a bed net that protects a family from mosquitoes (Against
20th century experiments demonstrated that electrical charge is
quantized; that is, it comes in
multiples of individual small units called the elementary charge, e,
approximately equal to 1.602
x 10-19 coulombs (except for particles called quarks which have
charges that are multiples of
Why has the experimentalism of the avant-garde, which has failed in
the novel, succeeded in
poetry? Because poetry is always experimental; while the novel, on
the contrary, by its nature,
cannot be . . . which is to say that experimentalism is synonymous
with poetry, and that applied
to the novel, it leads simply to the substitution of the novel with
poetry. --Alberto Moravia
Man made the town, Fibonacci inflated zero to be the wheel
around which the universe turns and language is the soul
walking and talking quietly or going angrily to war.
"Counting is in its very essence magical, if any human practice is at all.
For numbers are things no one has ever seen or heard or touched."
As are words.
Joan Didion thought the scariest stanza in all of poetry
begins Row, row, row your boat gently
down the stream. The elements, the material penumbra,
irresolvable for the mortal, readily dissolve in words and numbers.
Athens, February the seventh of two thousand thirteen
A long day is perishing, its dawn was short, its rain perpetual and its air heavy,
And I think it is a shame that you are not here with me, now that I look my watch and its 6 o’clock in the afternoon.
I have the stark feeling that Athens was much,, much more yellow with you here,
now that in my magic eyes are candles, and in my head bells, and that I listen the tachycardic throb of this keyboard,
being punched with rugged fingers for almost 3 pages, now that I see the clock and its 7 already,
I pop my knuckles just to harvest some cassavas for you, and briefly, I found myself judicious.
Because, today as always, and also as ever, I think it is a shame that you are not here with me…
My left foot aches like hell and I think about which running shoes I will buy, then I cherish the time we bought your brown running shoes and then, wonder the ones I just picked will like you, because
Maybe, in that near and also far day of fall, I will be using them, when I met you again.
Maybe then I will watch into my cellphone and, being 8 p.m. already, you will say “Hello, my love” while walking toward me … and I will say “Hello, my heifer”… And we will stand right there, both of us… me, stained with the green sea color of your glaucomic eyes, and you, with the blue stain of my banished loneliness.
In a past life… I’m sure of it… I was exceedingly
And as grand as myself… each entrance-
Pausing in doorways
To give each and every head the privilege
To turn and peruse the
Magnificence that was me…
And with each exit
Shatter champagne glass… and
Slowly… hip swayingly….
Drag full length mink along the floor….
But not this time around… No…
This phenomenal, prosaic, and unpretentious time around
If I drag full length mink…
Some heifer would accidentally… or purposely
Be guaranteed to step on it.. making me hafta
Step to her…
(get off’a mah coat!)
And no good can ever come
From two grown women…
Rolling in gutter gum
And miscellaneous sidewalk debris
‘til the cops show… and I catch a case…
With footprints on my coat…
gum in my hair… and
My spirit of woe…
Cuz it wasn’t s’posed to go
Down like that… not the way I saw my
Grand Exit at all…
I’ve concluded … evidently… by the way it seems like i should roll…
Not this time around… but in a past life…
Surely… I was exceedingly