Posted in Questions in Logic
(after Aram Saroyan’s “lighght”)
the lighgh of Thunder
whatever i follow becomes my lamp
whatever i hold dear, i let fly
slow your toiling mind
listen, and you will fly on a—
(((now)))
whatever i fool, i fool into freedom
even Thunder lies
Thunder is my lighgh
“I” am a whaTever
Posted in Questions in Logic
Nobody without a home, yet
another footprint on a world that needs nothing
A foothold I can call my own, a place that would forever accept my step
I wander on blank sheets of paper,
I wanted to write about that piece of empty space that is home to all
Dip the page in water, they say, and let the ink run by itself.
A paper vase with animals primitively drawn
Turning the vase in my hands, the animals run, bleeding, until the vase contains something.
(Write something into the vase)
writing curled round its inner walls, saying “The truth is no-w-here.”
now I etch it in wood carvings
the medium of the woods I wandered
on blank sheets of paper until
I was accepted into the Hall of Trees.
28 Saturday Sep 2024
Posted in Questions in Logic
Mathematics proposes numbers to measure real things. There are notches corresponding to numbers on the measuring tape, but even if the notches succeed in referring to that real position. (although they remain a sign of the real object), gaps are still on the measuring tape with no notch and no number to describe the intermediate positions.The real number system attempts to fill the gaps that most numbers leave when describing something real, removing the need for metaphor. “Metaphorical language is language proper to the extent that it is related to the need for making up for gaps of language”(Giuliani, 1972, p. 131). The system “covers the gaps” and does the job of describing physical reality (and more) without metaphor. But how do real numbers go about covering the gaps?
The work of covering the gaps and freeing real numbers from metaphor is done with The Axiom of Completeness:
A bounded increasing sequence has a least upper bound (that is a real number)
Why would the axiom of completeness cover all the gaps of a real line?
A good example is in the act of measuring a plank with a straight-looking side. One compares the plank with a measuring tape and measures the whole meters, but there is still some plank left to measure. (The number of whole meters is the first number (position)in the sequence.) So one counts the number of decimeters left (the resulting position is the second number in the sequence), but there still remains more plank after the largest marker for decimeters. The process continues until the precision of the measuring tape is exhausted, eyesight fails, or the measurer loses interest. Even though one must fail in measuring the exact length of the plank, the axiom of completeness provides assurances that there exists a real number for the “actual” length of the plank (and that there is an “actual” length of the plank). But the process cannot take the full measure of the plank, and so we remain in the poetic world of metaphor, “a process, not a definitive act; it is an inquiry, a thinking on” (Hejinian, 2000).
We want to talk about something real, something as simple and straightforward as the length of a plank. We have an apparatus of controlled inquiry, tools and will-more than the casual use of words, but we still fail.
We must admit that the measurements (words) we have used remain metaphorical and the actual measure of the plank (object) ultimately falls into the gaps of language. The words (measurements) we started with in our task of measuring the plank are no less metaphorical than the measurement we have when we stop. How can we wake up from metaphor?
(PDF) Many Roads from the Axiom of Completeness. Available from: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/327227248_Many_Roads_from_the_Axiom_of_Completeness [accessed Sep 28 2024].
15 Saturday Jun 2024
Posted in Questions in Logic
If you'll allow my own special crudeness
A disability of being born a caveman
In a world where we have become powerful.
I like deer and buffalo.
I don't get hungry as often as you do, you have to eat all the time
yet my hunger is deeper.
My work is a triumph, it is pure magic
To make a likeness
On how animals move and still themselves.
there is nothing more excellent.
Everyone is a genius; I mean that; we jostle for attention.
I tried to follow this world, not knowing the many worlds under this thin veil. the one the Goddess changes to suit her mood. Cling to her veil and get swept away
(the Goddess is busy being glorious, voluptuous, serene.)
Genius does not depend on competition or collaboration.
It does not depend on what other people are doing or what they have or believe.
The pioneers that get ignored, enumerated.
1) A monkey's hands are a pure genius.
2) A bird's beak is genius
3) The designs of spiders
4) The Stygian hollows of a wasp nest
5) sloths are lazy? Whatever it is they do is genius.
...
Some say our magic gets more and more real,
As if real or unreal was something I could weigh in my hand.
I see these animals and plants as they are to me,
their liquid intelligence commanding such graceful movements
stooping for water, hunting and praying to escape a hunt
why am I not recognized as being among them?
Is my magic still excellent?
even if I find myself in this time?
we still need our own liquid grace, our houses like the wasps,
we need the Art of the Sloth more than we know.
Now the old magic is called vandalism.
Is it because I stoop for the water and food I find
in an urban wilderness? I join the fox and the bird in drinking from a puddle in the park. What is good enough for them, is good enough for me.
To be truly wild is to live like a flame
brilliant, fragile
I feared for my life among cavemen,
and if I made a mistake I would be dead.
we have greater fear now
fear made us live, goading us to nourish our senses, of smell, of bare touch on soft cold earth, the brush that paints dew on our skin.
Plants appeared mighty then. A plant for every illness, every wellness, every star in the ancestral night sky. Their deep magic was dominant, not to be enslaved. A factory conformity of plants, called farming, should we allow that kind of life into our circle, where some of us are weeds? What does it mean to live as a farmer, and not a hunter?
Fear is collectively generated.
We cannot blame a few men or one god.
the colors I have touched on a cave wall, my magic of likenesses
On the subject of grace in the animal life, Now
I cannot paint them in a way that they are 20,000 years old.
My work earns destitution, donations of fear disguised as care, and a place among the gods... the one we created so we could deposit our fears into him.
such monstrous collective activity.
yet, I accept your fear because that is what you need.
I will be that foolish god for you, because a caveman knows not to guard his precious bulk against all the pain that courage brings.
I anoint you with a prayer for grace, and
"There is a hell of a good universe next door, let's go." --ee cummings
08 Saturday Jun 2024
Posted in Questions in Logic
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The Silver Mind Keeps Dying
Consciousness is the feeling of negation: in the perception of ‘the stone as grey,’ such feeling is in barest germ; in the perception of ‘the stone as not grey,’ such feeling is in full development. (Whitehead, 1929: 161)
“I,” who supports myself on the shoulders of rocks,
cannot be counted in the coffers of knowledge.
This feeling of negation is a desire for knowledge.
No, it is not a knowledge of these rocks.
My knowledge is something better than rocks, something I can’t see, like the arch of the sky.
I ignore rocks because of the treasures in my mind.
I bet you don’t even know what I am thinking. You just see rocks.
Rocks with emerald carpets of moss, with tiny iridescent mushrooms.
A rock in the shape of a heart, or with the same care-lines of your very face, my love.
Rocks are the new clouds.
Watch from one to the next, watch with the blessing of ages, how they change shape.
Their darkness that weighs.
Their fault is their honesty, and they don’t care.
Lift one from the paths of memory and find your true self.
Lift it, carry its body home and carefully wash away the moss and soil.
You will find a naked man inside, blinking at your face like the new sun.
No, I like my theory better, because it belongs to me:
sensitivity is an excess:
too much from a shapely line of text,
a sensuality of braille,
or the silent song.
Posted in Questions in Logic
A master of lies... He will know what kind and mode of deception is taking place at any moment set before him. He will know the lies of magic are the same as the lies of science. He must have detailed knowledge to the exactitude of a mathematician on why mathematics is a falsehood. A master of lies is most persuasive, and he knows how to hide his persuasion. He knows what purpose his lie serves, whether good or evil, beautiful or ugly or simply complex in how truth and lies are woven into the fabric of space-time. He has found the crack in the wholeness of his being, from where he will shine his lights and darknesses. He will know why he shines a darkness instead of a light, what the dangers are and how to avoid them. It is not mastery if his lies cause him harm. In other words, mastery over lies is not different from a mastery of truth. And a so-called master of truth only requires blind faith. Waving the flag of truth, he will be insulted if called a liar, as if lies were not integral to our existence on earth. He is blind to his own lies and manipulations, believing them to be right and true. "Errat ergo sum" -St. Augustine Come with me, I will guide you through the nightmare land of lies. And when you have crossed this valley of shadow, you will have a mastery that is more valuable than any fact.
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