-
The black cat did not come back. A little head scratch is nice but not a necessity. As Soseki's cat says it takes three times. There is a rule of three, it's an unstable number. When you don't want something to work you appont three members to a special committe - the Russian's call it a Toika. Three destabilizes and moves systems through chaos from one stable order to another - Snak's rule - there I've said it thrice so it must be true. Will maybe not all trinities are unstable. Three on a match is bad.
Prime numbers tend to have more good and bad connotatons than not non-primes - 3, 13 are bad, but 7 and 11 are good. And it is not surprising that we should fine most of the good and bad number to be the lowest ones because as the get bigger they thin out even though there is an infinite number of them (both good ones and evils ones as well as indifferent ones). At first almost ever other number is a prime, but near 100 on only one in four is prime, and never 1,000 one in seven, and near 10 billion only one in 23 is prime. No one knows what the largest evil prime number is - only that it must exist. It is not know if the largest evil prime is larger or smaller than the largest good prime number either (I suspect that the evil one is larger). After some very very large number all larger primes will be Manichean neutral. Forever and ever. Amen!
-
[He] never paid up, authority having the privilege of being able to change the rules – Andrew Hodges – Alan Turing: The enigma, 1983 p32
When we have a habit
We won’t call it an addiction
There must be rules
I limit myself to a pack a day (and at midnight I sneak out to buy another)
And I never begin to drink before 3PM
(as I never awoke before then anyway
it wasn’t really a legitimate rule)
And whether the rules lead to the habits
Or it’s the habits that demand the rules
No one knows
What we do know is that where we find the one
There is the other
Our rationality is limited to rule making
Its one of the rules of how rationality works
-
For the world is the world… / And it writes no histories / That end in love – Stephen Spender
-Hardly the signs of careful premeditation – it would be ludicrous to accuse me of that – indifference yes, I plead guilty of that – I plead guilty of willful indifference
-
The fact is, I was not thinking at all, not what could really be called thinking. I was content to sail along these dappled back roads, one hand on the wheel and an elbow out the window, with the scents of the country in my nostrils and the breeze whipping my hair – John Banville – The Body of Evidence, 1989 p102
-
It’s quite except for the hum of distant rubber-
Then a small breeze blows in and the cottonwood Trees begin to rustle
The ears are unique in that way where once
They become atuned there no shutting them off
It was only then that I noticed the commuter trafficAnd this morning’s birds? I notice one – then another
The whole forest is alive with their chatter
And then the cottonwoods rustle again
And when the morning’s commute dies down
There is the sound of men at work in the limestone quarry
By now I’m fixated by what there is to hear
You don’t do that with the eyes or the nose
Well the nose if you’re into find wine
But that has to be trained
-
Why, this time next week I won’t remember / What I was feeling when I wrote this. / I’ll have forgotten that I slept badly / and dreamed for a time this evening… - Raymond Carver – All of US, 1998 p167
-
I woke up feeling wiped out. God knows where I’ve been all night, but my feet hurt – Raymond Carver – All of US, 1998 p186
-
From the Notebooks (#2 -- 01/18/04 - San Francisco - Royal Ground Coffeehouse – California & Fillmore
-
I am getting a little to bold for my own good. It all started with my public readings. Now I am conducting a conversation with the Muni driver from the back of a half full bus. It starts when the driver announce, “Here it is!” “Here what is?” I ask. We leave the bus stop. He is creeping along talking in a loud voice, asking if anybody wanted to be a Muni driver. No one volunteered, rightly assuming that he might abandon the vehicle to one of them if he could find a volunteer. “It’s easy” he announced. He turned his #47 off of Mission and headed north onto Van Ness . There was a #49 directly ahead of us, “That one is 8 minutes late and I am on time” he proclaims. He appears to be conducting a soliquey. It’s his stage, his driver’s seat after all. That throne looks like and operates like the captain’s chair up on the bridge of a big ship. The young woman across from me has big ‘rag-a-muffin’ eyes (which in itself is no relevant) but she clutching her companion tightly by the pant leg. The remaining passengers are all quite (the normal condition except for couples and small group interacting). “That 49 is skipping stops and making me pick up everyone - and yet - I will still pass him by California St” he announces. “No, it will probably be Broadway. Yes, Broadway. Can anyone guess how late he is (referring to the number 49 ahead of us)?” I pipe up “My guess is that he is about eight minutes behind schedule”. “Someone has been paying attention” he announces. “Rag-a-muffin’s” companion attempted several timid responses but other wise its only the driver and I. I was playing ‘Doc Severson’ to his Johnny Carson.. 
“See that man, you never want to pick him up” “Oh”, I reply “I didn’t know that you could chose your passengers” “When it’s a danger to the public’s health and the environment you can” he says. “You know what ‘septic’ means? Do you know what antiseptic means?” “So” I ask “why do not all Muni drivers exercise this discretionary power?” “Because” he relied “they can’t read” I was amused. The other passengers appeared to be about to go into shock. It was not the topic. It was the protocol of the situation that worried them. It was like staring a conversation with a single female on the elevator after the door has closed and just you and her are standing alone in that small confined space. She has three choices - panic, ignore you or converse. My fellow passengers were obviously uncomfortable. The next stop was opposite the Opera House and a small group boarded. “Who won?” asked the driver. His comment was not directed at anyone in particular. “It was an opera!” a man finally replied, with a look of distain on his face. At the next stop several more opera fans boarded and the driver badgered them also. Finally one may replies “Renaldo won”. “Hear that folks, ‘Renaldo’ won the opera” I’m enjoying this banter - other than a few other less timid folks, everyone is looking around and whistling to themselves. If they ignore it, it will go away. No one has yet taken the third option and panicked.Today on the same bus (the #47) the bus driver stopped at the California St stop but didn’t activate the exits, even though I had signaled a “stop requested”. When the bus ahead of us got out of the way we proceeded on to the next stop. “Hey, driver, how about letting us off here, since you wouldn’t let us off at our requested stop” I hollered from mid bus. No reply. “I guess that that means no” I holler. I getting in the habit of speaking up - No one else will say anything – I should have just politely waited like everyone else for the next stop and walked back. And in the end that is what I and the other passengers had to do but it was not without protest- I’m becoming more compulsive. I’m becoming more interactive. I’m getting more aggressive. I think it’s due to this process of writing that I’m forcing myself to do But, I tell myself I need to be a little more cautious. I knew that the worst thing that could happen to me was to get thrown off the bus and I wanted off anyway. But there were open-ended situations out there where it was best to keep your mouth shut and did I know which was which.
-
Sunday morning and I’m sitting on a bench in Lafayette Park waiting with my laundry in the dryer. All my bills have been paid and I’m reading Habermas - well actually the book is sitting here on the bench next to me. What I’m actually doing is writing in my journal. The sun comes out. It feels good as I watch the dog walkers. Mothers (and a dad) are watching their children play.
No comments:
Post a Comment