Pi is a never-ending unfolding of an unlimited process. To the right of the decimal point, the numbers appear never to settle into repetition. For all intents, it is random in a way no intelligence, organic or artificial, can improve. In these ways, pi is a perfect proxy for what can never be known. No matter how long we look.
Perfect
What do you want? Perfect? Perfect shames and mocks you constantly. Should I bother spending half my life learning how to spell words that no one ever uses? Would that be perfect? Would a perfect score on the SATs make me perfect? Dial down a little when you judge me. Full disclosure? I’m almost the opposite of perfect. My brain articulates well. Don’t confuse that with I know what the fuck anything means or what I’m talking about. I’m the same sapient primate that you are.
Silence
Now watch me move the middle. I eat beauty all day, and then I reckon it a mess. Secrets, lies? They can’t be trusted in my ears or mouth. I’m good at lots of things. Silence is not one of them.
The ear of the mind of the soul
The difference is I was finished. I didn’t want it anymore. I’m not sure I ever wanted it. It felt like I wanted it. When I was holding it. I watched the heart of it beating. And I thought about what would make it stop. The heart is the ear of the mind of the soul. I wanted silence.
Calm air
There is a calm, creative air that my air breathes. And my best words are an approximation of this air. The wind blows harder occasionally, and it changes what I have to say. How about this? Know I love you. No matter what comes out of my mouth for 42 seconds. It’s going to be shitty. And it’s going to be true. And then it will be done.
Human nature
I don’t know how I know, but I know I know. That seems solipsistic, but, in fact, it is the opposite. I don’t know myself at all except looking backward. I constantly amaze myself with what I’m capable of doing. If my life were a movie, I would nudge you in the theater every three minutes, asking, ” What the fuck did he just do?”
Give me three minutes around you, though, and I will know exactly what you’re going to do next. I know human nature, I just don’t know mine.
Soft-boiled egg
She was slightly taller than me, 76 times better looking, and super age-inappropriate.
“Why do you like me?” I asked.
“I like smart.”
And so this weird thing began. She was smart, too. More street smart than me. Unfortunately, she had earned that. She was a soft-boiled egg—hard outside and soft in the middle.
The curse of knowing
How do you turn good into bad? How do you make things better when the easy always keep making things worse? Why is bad easier? Why is it bad? Most of us choose it soe of the time. Then we judge. We hate in others what we dislike in ourselves. This life is a crazy thing.
Sentience gave us rule of this world, but it also brought us inescapable suffering. Gazelles don’t fear death even when its neck is in a lion’s mouth. We got understanding. Loss became reality then we got fear. Knowing is fear.
Count
This is the new beginning. The new originals. The new today. This is not countable. It is impossible to count. Impossible to accurately measure. If the universe has a bookkeeper, then this is accounted for somewhere. But for all real purposes, there will be no count. It’s a thought exercise. Like wondering how many potentially fatal doses I’ve ingested, or how many times I’ve actually been close to death. No one is counting. But it is a set of integers greater than one and less than infinity.
Sociopath
Of course, we all have the ultimate responsibility for who we end up being. By the time that happens–is happening– blame has almost no real value anyway. And culpability is only recognized by the small subset of the guilty who possess insight and the ability to feel guilt.