There is a wardrobe that can bring me to my knees. A veritable closet full of bittersweet memories. It exists for the time being; until moths or friction evaporate the fabric.
After my favorite pair of pants exploded, I am now reporting that my second favorite pair of pants are disintegrating.
Waterloo is terrific, but not quite ready to be pulled out of the oven, in a few years, it will be spectacular.
Some will conclude that the title of this post concerns the contents of the post, they will claim it is self-evident, but for me it seldom is so black and white, in truth, I know precisely what I am referring too and it will never be conferrable in such an imprecise medium and from such an inherently flawed mind. The title is an explicit reference relevant at only a particular space and time. Only I will know this explicit reference… everyone else will have to speculate.
I am thinking about Art and Science. What traits do they share? What traits distinguish them? I think, in my simplistic view and in as few words as possible, that considering what constitutes each will reveal the answers to these questions:
What do you think?
Additional ruminations that expound the issue:
Mathematics is a tool, maybe even a medium.
That’s that, but now let’s wade into how my mind works:
I originally set down these considerations when considering the marriage of Religion and Politics in our contemporary America. I was thinking about the danger of such a close relationship, how alienating it can be for those with different beliefs, views, etc., and I started, in my mind, a revolt against the marriage. I launched into eloquent speeches, in my imaginary world, mind you, about the importances of the separation of church and state, the historical precedent that describes the descents such endeavors can lead to, and, as I am wont to do, I took this fancy to the nth degree by postulating what my detractors might say against me. Despite the obvious and empty claims of un-Americanism, they attacked my support of the marriage of Art and Science, and used it to take apart my arguments for the divorce of Religion and Politics. It was effective and I was normalized and defeated. Naturally, this lead me to reconsider my imaginary support for the marriage of Art and Science, so I started thinking about Art and Science.
Lisza was lying the floor looking upside down out the window. The sky was blue. She said it looked weird. The day before I was sitting at the window watching the horizon. It had been raining all day, but a patch of blue emerged. I screamed, “I see blue!” It was enough for Ryan and I to head for Bernal Heights, a hill in the Mission District of San Francisco. We walked to the summit where a crumbling microwave tower resides. One sign on the fence-enclosed facility warned of the hazards of radio emission levels. Another told use not to stand in the transmission beam which is invisible. We walked an adjoining hill from which we could spot Ryan’s distant apartment window. This was the very window from which we had spotted the patch of blue sky. From the vantage of the window, anything on top of Bernal Heights could be seen clearly against the dull, cloud-filled sky. Ryan transmitted a signal to Lisza and we ran down the hill, arms flailing. She could see us, I felt like I was ten. I waved goodbye even though I knew she probably wasn’t looking anymore. We took a steep and treacherous path down. In hindsight, it was probably an eroded path from runoff and not a trail. I cut my hand on something unseen. We picked up some Hawaiian beer, I spit on my hand to disinfect it. I started to think about the bacteria living in my mouth and wiped my hand on my blue sweater. It started to drizzle again.
