Saturday, September 18, 2010

oldies but goodies.


When (with eggshells and shit) the Gardener tends to his lovers...

Putrid. Sore. Forget -
(It) - Not. In dirt too pure, blooms

don’t flourish. They rot.






"there are many who seek knowledge for the sake of knowledge: that is
 curiosity.  there are others who seek knowledge so that they may be 
known: that is vanity.  others seek knowledge in order to sell it: that is
 greed.  but, there are some who seek knowledge to edify 
others, and that is love." 

-St. Bernard of Clairvaux.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

r numbers.

an exposition.

though i've loved prime numbers for a long time, i recently realised how much more i love sophie germain primes in particular.

a prime number p is a sophie germain prime if both p and 2p+1 are prime.

i realise that i love the first dozen numbers in this beautiful set for no truly mathematical or logical reason. i love them just because they have everything to do with my favourite numbers and my funny little make-believe numerology. the symbolic arrows between my heart and memory dart zealously in the light of the first twelve sophie germain primes:

1)  2. two.
2)  3. three.
3)  5. five.
4)  11... 1 + 1 = 2. two.
5)  23... 2 + 3 = 5. five.
6)  29... 2 + 9 = 11... 1 + 1 = 2. two.
7)  41... 4 + 1 = 5. five.
8)  53... 5 + 3 = 8. eight.
9)  83... 8 + 3 = 11... 1 + 1 = 2. two.
10)  89... 8 + 9 = 17... 1 + 7 = 8. eight.
11)  113... 1 + 1 = 3 = 5. five.
12)  131... 1 + 3 + 1 = 5. five.

the first twelve sophie germain primes are rozable numbers, or r numbers for short. i consider rozable numbers worthy of partaking in any given situation where i am hyper aware of values and quantities, whether delibrately or subconsciously.

r numbers rely on my seven favourite numbers, which allude to many many many significant quantities, values, dates, and more in my life (a few examples below).

rozelle's favourite numbers: 
2. 3. 5. 7. 8. 11. 12.
two. three. five. seven. eight. eleven. twelve.

2. two: july 2, 1985; love.
3. three: nicolas, brandon, and me; the holy trinity; three consecutive consonnants within the word.
5. five: my immediate family; one of my favourite years of childhood; dance.
7. seven: july; rozelle; unique and seldom utilised; sexy; jesus.
8. eight: the dancers' measure; an octave; a vertical infinity; three consecutive consonnants within the word; spirit.
11. eleven:  1 + 1 =  2; exceptionally rozable; unique and seldom utilised.
12. twelve: jesus' apostles; 1 + 2 = 3; exeptionally rozable; a factor of 2 and 3; a likeable amount; two occurrences of two consecutive consonnants within the word; god.

any rozable number, can basically be reduced to one of my favourite nubmers, based on the definition below:

a number r is a rozable number if at lease one of the following conditions is true:
  • r is prime, or
  • r = 8, or
  • r = 12, or
  • the sum of r's digits equals 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 11, or 12
  • the sum of r's digits equals a number whose digits sum to 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 11, or 12, or another number whose digits sum to 2, 3, 4, 7, 8, 11, or 12, or another number whose digits... etc.

the first twelve sophie germain primes are an exceptionally rozable set of numbers because more than one of the above conditions is true for each and every one of them. and they're prime. oh, the notes and possibilities for pastiche...!

if you ever spend tons of time with me you'll notice little things: i always have the music volume set at r. i always pump r dollars worth of gas to the cent. i take cat naps that are always r minutes long, and my alarm clocks are set to ring at hours and minutes that follow the conditions of r.  when shopping, i always purchase r items. example: on my way to the register, my grocery basket has: nong shim kim-chee noodles,  a baguette, vanilla bean ice cream, toffee chocolates, cottage cheese, jalapeno potato chips. that’s six items. six is okay, but i’d much prefer seven so i run over to the produce section and pick up a pluot and then check myself out. tasty tasty times.

(to be continued, because it's five in the morning, and what the fuck is wrong with me...?)

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

a yellow brick fish bowl.

my moments continue leaping out of control and wrenching my spirits 
like little opal fish that just want out

these fish want to fly and swallow
every hue of blue in the sky 
because all they can see is yellow and drowning
a crayon sun
the yellowing while you die
cheesy
petals
ducks
rainboots
eggs
they just want out
the water is boiling and they're losing their sheen 
and what does too much or love even mean?
it means all of the blues and more
these intelligent fish know this and it is good and true
all all all all all of the blues 
and more 
make up my moments here
home for all the little opal fishes hurts the most
yellow is 
teeny tiny betrayals like cracks and masking tape
yellow
longing for trust and being confused 
but happy that it's something
something more yours than anything else has ever been
the only thing
yours
and you're loving it 
and isn't that the why?
these are my opal moments that fly
my only moments flying away and away and away


only daughter: you got your ticket too soon
holy water, 'cause everybody's getting ruined
they are waiting to see what you do
with no regard to you at all... they'll dress you up for the fight
like ophelia, you'll wave goodnight
with earth and sky you'll cheer and sigh, writhe as all your days go by
and laugh as you die
you know down in dirty water is no place for a paper doll
~ r.y.

Monday, April 5, 2010

a green balloon.

on easter sunday.

a shiny kelly-green balloon bumbled into the road today on my drive home, unafraid of it all: the rain, the wind, the cars.  it was going. it just had to go somewhere, and when i say somewhere i mean somewhere that doesn't really matter as much as the going.  so i swerved my car around so as not to hurt it or thwart its journey, and when i passed, i saw the balloon, wet and glistening in my rearview mirror, floating upward, out of the road, and over the sidewalk.  a gust blew it fast to the top of a chain-link fence, and my stomach clenched for a second thinking my car swerve in vain, but just as i turned left toward home, i saw that shiny kelly-green balloon refuse to be pricked by or stuck on that grey and severely dreary fence.  the last moment i could watch in my mirror was the slightest moment of the whole sequence, yet my favourite: a shimmery shimmy; a brave breathe against that sharp edge.  the green balloon is still going.

and the green balloon is still going now, i know, even though i had to drive on before getting to see its full lift, up and away, as i imagine.  while i am warm and safe and writing this inside, i send this green balloon my love through my room's watery window scene to wherever it may be.  i thank it for the brief, yet brilliant moment it shared with me, which i will cherish fondly, and i wish it the best on its adventure.  this world, which could so easily crush a delicate life such as that of a balloon, is perhaps also sprinkled with pockets of mercy and hope and goodness.  maybe one day my heart will follow this green balloon and go... somewhere that doesn't matter nearly as much as the going.

today, i saw a brave balloon going in the rain, unafraid of it all.