Sunday, August 8, 2010

Logic Not

Blog post # 98:

These two pictures, made yesterday and today, complement each other somewhat, at least in regards to their names.

Unreality Wrung

Illogicality Summed


Now I will entertain you all with a not-very-clever anagram:

No atrocities can be seen as yours.
Say so, a rotten science is our bane.


Last night I had a dream I was doing math, much as I used to do often in reality. Well, as certain I was when I was dreaming that the equation I discovered was truthful and that my logic was rigorous, when I woke up I was like "What the ??? That's total BS!"

Now, if, a BIG IF, our dreams are really happening in another universe, then maybe what I figured out in my dream was indeed true in the alternate reality. Or maybe I was just absolutely insane.

Some amateur mathematicians believe that pairs of numbers that don't equal each other (such as +1 and -1) are in-fact equal, or believe that two numbers that do equal each other (such as 3 and 3) are in-fact not equal. Is there ANY truth to any of this madness, ANYWHERE? Or are the rules of logic consistent throughout the multiverse? Of course if you say they are, then x doesn't necessarily equal x, and the answer may still be no in the other universe.

Then there is that crazy-talk coming from right-wing talk-radio lately.... More illogicality.

That's the word for today: Illogicality.

It's in the poem I wrote today. But I will NOT publish that poem here. (It's a miracle!) I WILL post the poem I wrote yesterday, though. (Ah, f***!...)


Paragraphs Of My Waking

And I wrote such idioms within my calligraphy.
And so I ascended as string unto that cloth,
Unto a knot of syllables disarrayed. I
Ascended as the twisting space amongst us,
Amongst earthen sand, ha. Oh, I wrote of
Paraphrased blurriness thus contrite yet
Extracted. And I extricated my mind from its
Paper, from its pen therefore unreal and
Mathematical. ..., I surely scribed these
Damnable thoughts, and I wrapped them and
Wrung them as my dreams.

Yes, I drew the prayers of polygons onto and
Throughout these sheets. But they only pierced
The porous papyrus within me. Yes, they pierced
Those words and denied them their aggregates.
Oh, denied were those paragraphs of my waking,
Of my written breath pitifully perfect, otherwise
Pathetic, otherwise willfully but
Unjustly typographical.



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