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"manifolds" poems
Virginia Nicholson How To Build A House In N-Dimensions 1. Begin with lines, pencil to paper (if they could exist) drawing graphite arrangements, N-space reduced to one, a structure viewed in slices. Imagine the bathroom off the foyer, the den off the dining room, viewable only as inked lines, dit-dit-dah, a contractor’s Morse Code. 2. Progress to carpet squares, linoleum tiles, the coral paint pairs well with the eggshell trim.  Dit-dah-dit becomes something useful to the non-contractor, “door” or “Master Bedroom” or “x hundred feet of pipe.” Envision the imagined patterns hidden in the bathroom floor, the kitchen hardwood. 3. Move to volumes, solids, conic sections, height. One story, two stories, a basement, an attic?, take advantage of the introduction of 3D. Upgrade the closet to walk-in, needs more carpet squares. A snapshot of a family barbeque, Charlie’s height 1D penciled in to the 3D door, marring 2D eggshell paint. 4. Adding time, the house is built, ages, gets sold to new families with little Charlies of their own, new markings on the cupboard door, 3-foot-2, 3-foot-5, 4-foot-9. Grass fades from Kelly to sand to Kelly, saturation a cosine function with respect to time. The Zoysia starts in one, breaking ground in two, growing in three, a well-manicured 4D experience. 5-11.    Include the things invisible to us, objects on the order of 1 meter, orders of 10E-2 to 10E9 seconds. Five to eleven drip through leaky pipes, seep through porous flooring, get lost in iron-rich soil and oxygenated exhalations. Five to eleven stay hidden, wrapped up in Calabi-Yao manifolds smaller than graphite hills and valleys marking little Charlie’s height, stronger than the 2-by-4s and stone foundation keeping strong in 4D. Five to eleven circulate undetected, seven dimensions shrunk to sub-pinpoint size, keeping seven dimensions of unexplainables covered until their traces are seen in the blades of Zoysia.
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Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 5:20 PM UTC
How To Build A House In N-Dimensions
Virginia Nicholson How To Build A House In N-Dimensions 1. Begin with lines, pencil to paper (if they could exist) drawing graphite arrangements, N-space reduced to one, a structure viewed in slices. Imagine the bathroom off the foyer, the den off the dining room, viewable only as inked lines, dit-dit-dah, a contractor’s Morse Code. 2. Progress to carpet squares, linoleum tiles, the coral paint pairs well with the eggshell trim.  Dit-dah-dit becomes something useful to the non-contractor, “door” or “Master Bedroom” or “x hundred feet of pipe.” Envision the imagined patterns hidden in the bathroom floor, the kitchen hardwood. 3. Move to volumes, solids, conic sections, height. One story, two stories, a basement, an attic?, take advantage of the introduction of 3D. Upgrade the closet to walk-in, needs more carpet squares. A snapshot of a family barbeque, Charlie’s height 1D penciled in to the 3D door, marring 2D eggshell paint. 4. Adding time, the house is built, ages, gets sold to new families with little Charlies of their own, new markings on the cupboard door, 3-foot-2, 3-foot-5, 4-foot-9. Grass fades from Kelly to sand to Kelly, saturation a cosine function with respect to time. The Zoysia starts in one, breaking ground in two, growing in three, a well-manicured 4D experience. 5-11.    Include the things invisible to us, objects on the order of 1 meter, orders of 10E-2 to 10E9 seconds. Five to eleven drip through leaky pipes, seep through porous flooring, get lost in iron-rich soil and oxygenated exhalations. Five to eleven stay hidden, wrapped up in Calabi-Yao manifolds smaller than graphite hills and valleys marking little Charlie’s height, stronger than the 2-by-4s and stone foundation keeping strong in 4D. Five to eleven circulate undetected, seven dimensions shrunk to sub-pinpoint size, keeping seven dimensions of unexplainables covered until their traces are seen in the blades of Zoysia.
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7
Famed to have brought light into being, but dark, dark you are my friend, passing through me effortlessly, though I know there is an interaction: week, very week. Deep there buried somewhere in my soul was a throb heard, when every miracle that forms the chain of my life surfaces: and I've been searching for you. I thought you were beyond oceans, where sky meets, until my ship turned around at the horizon; I looked for you in the womb of terran vaults and then in the planets and the stars, and you have been collapsing fields and manifesting timelines so I proposer, meanwhile. You are not what I worshipped in image and then smashed it and sought in formless word. Every time I grasp you, you vanish, retreat, bubble-being, who knows what exists beyond this expanse we inhabit, these membranes and curled up manifolds, where in the knots I'm still searching; But before even this unfolds in full, I discover, it is all dark, darkness that holds these tiny galaxies of light in its densest folds; Magicienne, wave your wand, let us know beyond the dark and the illuminated, let us in, into the secret chamber of kinship.
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Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 6:08 PM UTC
Fiat Lux - II
; climb incidentally a towering flat at struggling veneration's rawest berry so scarlet a holly droplet in manifolds of sage a sundered drooping door i'm carefully falling porcelain sheeted hammers languid health a protein remarkably nascent fronds spun g,Ol den denting vine
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Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 3:28 PM UTC
climb incidentally a towering flat
Differential manifolds works on the visual status of my brain just as elements or compounds reacting with each other exchanging electrons. How simple to imply, how hard to deduce. Who needs these similes?
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Apr 17, 2021
Apr 17, 2021 at 4:08 PM UTC
Chemistry
layer by layer the life we share shade by shade the bond is being made day by day ensured the stay bit by bit we unknowingly commit words by words revealed the inwards moment by moment validation of the agreement here, for a while let's hold understand the untold the love, growing in manifolds for miracles the time unfolds ups and downs pros and cons dusks and dawns never alter the divine plans beyond righteousness or wrongdoing let the stream flowing the life is ephemeral but our connection is eternal.... Jugnu,
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Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 9:07 AM UTC
The karmic connection
so close within your eyes.. resides the world's most scintillant light.. when you cry...the stars WEEP and release symphonies that cascade from the skies, azure temples intimately disguised, yet in the dark your heart falls apart and calls out my name, every day i think of you, as my soul grows cold and old..i struggle 2 control the pain.. Its odd.. the facade.. that the'world in all it's awe performs so worn'from the applause relentlessly, Nothing MUST be.. we're born and formed to be flawed, created cracked and clawed from earthly debris, Misanthropic melodies, manifolds of madness never before heard-confessed and conveyed Expressed and displayed-through violent variation of words, I await.. and in silence observe, Confounded and disturbed.
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Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 6:42 PM UTC
The Facade
Unfold Take me  into your fold And unfurl  your manifolds I am your scaffold
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Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC
Unfold
If it doesn't matter spacially whether there is a 1st or 2nd, etc., connection, then this matter shouldn't matter within reason. As long as a connection is made or not made, that is all that will stand out.   The kind of connection made cannot be spacially signified except via overlap or by tangency, so therefore, within reason the kind of connection made should not stand out either. Therefore, this subject of topology is really a matter of 'connect the dots'.
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Apr 27, 2021
Apr 27, 2021 at 5:46 PM UTC
Differentiable Manifolds
Differential manifolds are like levels of a video game where the character levels up their weapon upon arriving on each new level.
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Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 1:03 AM UTC
Math fun
from somewhere nearby a lark is suddenly over the whole dancing mess of humanity even louder than is to be the screech honking of voices car engines into cringing violence of increasingly silent manifolds around the white body of that birds cracking majesty it opens its throat and the entire world shuts the **** up
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Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
Untitled
each noon sleeps through drowsy and sharp autumn with its hair in manifolds bright steaming with chirps of tiny color
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Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 2:47 AM UTC
Untitled
spelt: the uneven the folding of into mouths– grass; between tickles and niggling of thigh sweated and hot through muscle of wine, over the lips breaking a dash of light ; sound (and not sound too) ––– there is a doe a starling and a thick beam of golden wheat parts the sun into white manifolds of burning health: (wither which, into each should go all those summers afore the snow) .
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Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
Untitled
Wow, understanding the concepts of half a differential equations course online completely integrated five years of physics concepts along with all my self-study of calculus and manifolds. Yet still I march on.
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May 9, 2021
May 9, 2021 at 11:26 PM UTC
Chunk
conversation leaves; the quiet rushes to fill the cracks punctuated with the speed of sunlight, the angle of the moon the world shakes, manifolds of infinite possibilities; blindfolds for our eyes, slipping mine meet yours; yours meet mine in between lie the cascading permutations somehow traversing the space between
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Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
when the conversation leaves
Nothing can really be said that has'not already been heard, But I shall try... Oceans of raw emotion portrayed, expressed-undressed and displayed through different torrential variations and'depths of words, behold, lend me your ear-observe, I wander this'world in'a state of disarray, No destination No eye on'a prize, No future beyond a decade, I'realize its dysphoric and grave yet'still I stay..... in'these cold creaking complexities such'old deepening convexities-that'lessen me until I am no more, life through emerald windows and crimson closed doors, I can'hear the sand slipping'through hour by'hour, pills and powder dismal skies and clouds formed brain storms striking down-growing louder, what could'it all mean?! my portrait of omnipotent pulchritude and'power, go ahead and take'a breath i'll be here when'you open your eyes.. but'only if you truly left, traverse the'seas of mortal coil lets'shed these shells of flesh, autumn is crossing worlds and'yet... here'you sit on your own, waiting for'the reaper to'collect your soul, anticipating, languishing and'waiting all'alone, theres something in'these bones jagged and jarred'loose-what's the'use in resisting? ragged and'scarred-recluse.... im'too bruised to go'on existing, my crooked soul's in a constant state of'shifting, moonlit manifolds of madness appear above in the'sky, I see'them from'the corner of my tired eyes as'a great cold sadness sours and'scolds the'parts of'me I keep and'hold.. locked'away inside, the road ahead.....is bleak at best if'it had to be described, pills and powder-deception and'lies
0
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC
Pills and powder
Nothing can really be said that has'not already been heard, But I shall try... Oceans of raw emotion portrayed, expressed-undressed and displayed through different torrential variations and'depths of words, behold, lend me your ear-observe, I wander this'world in'a state of disarray, No destination No eye on'a prize, No future beyond a decade, I'realize its dysphoric and grave yet'still I stay..... in'these cold creaking complexities such'old deepening convexities-that'lessen me until I am no more, life through emerald windows and crimson closed doors, I can'hear the sand slipping'through hour by'hour, pills and powder dismal skies and clouds formed brain storms striking down-growing louder, what could'it all mean?! my portrait of omnipotent pulchritude and'power, go ahead and take'a breath i'll be here when'you open your eyes.. but'only if you truly left, traverse the'seas of mortal coil lets'shed these shells of flesh, autumn is crossing worlds and'yet... here'you sit on your own, waiting for'the reaper to'collect your soul, anticipating, languishing and'waiting all'alone, theres something in'these bones jagged and jarred'loose-what's the'use in resisting? ragged and'scarred-recluse.... im'too bruised to go'on existing, my crooked soul's in a constant state of'shifting, moonlit manifolds of madness appear above in the'sky, I see'them from'the corner of my tired eyes as'a great cold sadness sours and'scolds the'parts of'me I keep and'hold.. locked'away inside, the road ahead.....is bleak at best if'it had to be described, pills and powder-deception and'lies
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42
i want you. the coalesced flower of Autumn in wriggling manifolds of freshest death, that by who paints with strokes of crimson their brush becomes the coy feather of once a month between your thighs: blood
0
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
Untitled
There was a strange carnality in flowing robes, a waiver penetrates in incorporeal ellipse. I must speak of him in his absence combating for the actuality. Knowing lust manifolds, yields a prayer, primrose opens the eyes. The knowledge liberating - you cross the inlets. Anxiety peels off your mind. An obnoxious presence of unbeings, the weeds, the vocal generation of priests, are anything but art. The body blooms, in suicidal note. Birds shriek, before the moon climbs on the dark trees. I let go the orange, only the white spreads.
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Sep 3, 2017
Sep 3, 2017 at 11:55 PM UTC
Actualis