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PostPosted: Thu Sep 14, 2017 8:28 pm
by Jakob
Merdokelgan ruled once the woods where the shepherds would not lead their flock.
Now, the ancient valency-bond crept to its closure inside the belly of the Beast.
But the darkened roads grew golden, and the fish shone in this gold like... golden fish
and so it darkened again at the end of the day, and Merdokelgan and his tribe had fish which now glowed by coal-red.

Re: Crazy

PostPosted: Fri Sep 15, 2017 1:11 am
by Meno_
This is why the sheen and its beginning are covered by gold dust. Said the fox. That's why it's a closure, inaccessible but maybe 1 of 2, and then they point to being mathematically inclined, forgetting that for all appearances, two perfections can not be shown to be the same, even if it caused the insanity of many a good mind. They did not appreciate the value of gut level feelings.

That is why the basis of math is intuitive, therefore it's an Oroborous. What's wrong with that? It closes its mundane communicative value, oft relegating it into the dustbins of futile irrelevancy, thereby removing it's self from its source of inspiration.

Alfred E Newman

Re: Crazy

PostPosted: Fri Sep 15, 2017 4:12 pm
by Jakob
Bravo. Math is a monster, derived, dug up from the deep.
A pathway to the venerable without-music, who surely is among the most musical of our species:


All unearthed, weakened, uprooted, supplanted humans reach for things like mathematics as a priori truth on which they can rest their weary souls, and wither in peace.

All earthly, strong, rooted, and soil-blessed humans consider mathematics an ornament, a crown, that rests on the labor of their hearts, is a gift paid for with blood.

Re: Crazy

PostPosted: Fri Sep 29, 2017 2:43 am
by Meno_
Since math is like digging for a map to signs leading to buried treasure taking hundreds of not thousands of years to find and once found turn out to be fools gold, and that turns into dust, and that once famous composer of fine musique ,fearful of being psycho analyzed for fear of loosing it,
The it which was never found in the first place, therefore points to the undisclosed not by thw.virtue of hidenness, but by the clean slate of wiping away the wrinkles pf.time.
There 4 living in a bubble of time, machines to slow. That can even a screeching halt, but oh no not that says the wise owl hooting the vanity of the tragic mantra of never ever coming to grips, since it holding an iron maiden, never ever to disillusion that its self has some other then air as counter weight in the bubble of timelessness.

It's not that it has vanity in existence, on the contrary its line a reverse image of the falling.

Sympathy with it, and corroboration spells disaster for its strange pull.

Know what I mean? Explicit and be damned
It's manufacture has no extrinsic or intrinsic calculations

Otherwise the burn

Once passed through this ring, then others many many others, and many more

Idiots suffering the fate of angels
Irreparably over and over that's why at least for me a conscious need to return , seems insatiable and taken with the great horizons of ever blue and green. Oh when will they learn.

Moral: got to be honest at least with one's self, or two but more the merrier.

If anyone says moron again remind them of those who perished while reciting a mantra.