Numerous number systems beyond the real:
complex numbers, octonions, omnions which can eat whole black
      holes.
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
      Committee)
$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
      Corps)
$5 will buy a bed net that protects a family from mosquitoes (Against
      Malaria)

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
1/3e).

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.

From time to time
Here I stand

I see some broken pieces
Of an irresolvable puzzle
Probably they are mine

I forgot the time we were hand-in-hand
Like the desert with the sand

Walking down a corridor as dark as blindness,
But for a flickering source of illumination.
In these moments devoid of visual information
Alone with my thoughts.
I think...

Maybe the universe (It) exists intermittently.
Ceasing to be amidst states of being.

Maybe this cantor dust reality
Wears a façade of continuum.

I shall never know.
For such knowledge demands
My presence in Its absence.
Which shall never be
For both in absence and presence
I and It are one.

Here I slip through the web.
strands morphing,
Splitting into alternate narratives,
Knotting into irresolvable chaos.
Back once again in the dark corridor.

Maybe I'll catch a loose strand  
The next time I walk down
A corridor as dark as blindness,
But for a flickering source of illumination.

In Ulzana's Raid,
the Native- and European-American concepts of property
      ownership and rights
are incompatible and irresolvable. McIntosh
had no illusions about that. He said hating Apaches for killing
      whites
is like hating the desert for having no water.
I suspect the movie's not a good source of anthropological
      data
and overlooks the commonalities among human communities
to focus on just a few bold characters
as all art must.

I consider McIntosh fortunate
to have died commensurate with the way he lived his life,
rolling a final cigarette, nothing between him and the desert,
and no gravediggers waiting, jesting, defecating. Also,
he is lucky to have had one last, dispassionate friend
to whom there is nothing left to say, the Chiracahua tracher
Kah-ti-nay.

Last night's performance of Beauty and the Beast
may have been the most victorious, ecstatic, cohesive
moment in our little school's history. Emily was Beauty, a
      filament of energy
who doesn't like to be touched and has been known to punch
boys hard. She had memorized her lines until she was hardly
Emily but only Beauty in a blue dress unselfconsciously
hiking up her tights between the Beast's advances.
Is this done in every American town and the world
over so there's no need to feel lost or lonely
ever?

There is no context for a man
outside the platoon or raiding party, home or shop.
When violence comes to the neighborhood,
the hierarchy of communicants will hold or fold
it is then the peace work proves relevant. I noticed McIntosh,
grizzled as he was, accepted the given hierarchy, a raw
      lieutenant's orders,
as he did the desert and Apaches, with a shrug and
      foreknowledge
of the outcome. If there's anywhere with no Emily or Beauty
we should bring them such blessings at the point of a
gun. But there is no place without Emily, not
the least-known prison in deepest space as long
as we do not hate or hurt or shun
the Beast.

Emotions can be:

little magical sprites fluttering
inside your heart
caressing the deepest recesses
of your soul
gently giving you that "high"
happiness
euphoria
inside you springs
a boundless utopia

Or...

They can be devious tricksters
gremlins, the vilest of
these little devils
torturing you
pricking you with a thousand needles
of sadness
grief
the lowest forms
of loneliness.

Inside us dwells
the eternal Yin and Yang

We may be walking contradictions
irresolvable paradoxes
toyed by the whims of unseen forces
barraged by these mysterious
sensations, feelings

and yet,

Such confusion is what makes us
human.

The angels just might be here.
They might incline and motion me
towards paradise - the gracious witness
of tranquility's conflagration.

But I swear, if at this moment
you walk by, with that longing
that shapes the curve of your hips,
and that thrilling stillness on your

tongue, ******* and lips,
I would pivot on a cheap dime
and wag after you, even if my arousal
is a disgust, while you labor
          to comfort your concerns.

And if the angels counsel -
"Ghost, ghost, ghost," I swear again
that I would dictate a new divinity
in which ghosts and the gods

worship through the senseless hunger,
adorned by the irresolvable hope
that my hips and your hips, my tongue
and your tongue, my eyes seeing

your eyes can actually come together
in the indecipherable union,
and be greater than all
that will ever be.

Folly - unless it is true.
The best reason I have
for remaining such a diseased
and frantic ghost.