Second: today is Wednesday. Which means that tomorrow is Thursday. Which means that the day after tomorrow is Friday. Which is the day that my first seminar paper is due. Hurrah. Continuing to bury myself in Charlotte Perkins Gilman. At least she's pretty. Or... was, I guess. Not so much into the zombies, myself.
Third: so far today... get up, drink coffee, bike downtown, pick up stuff, bike back, quick shower, hit the library. Stay in the library. Read. Write. Rithmetic, I guess - everything is a matter of math. Darren Aronofsky is awesome.
One of my favorite movies, actually. I'm a little bit less about Requiem, though, hey, the music is fantastic. I wanted to embed a scene from Pi - the discussion of Go - but the embedding was "disabled by request". Slow burn.
Restate my assumptions: One, Mathematics is the language of nature. Two, Everything around us can be represented and understood through numbers. Three: If you graph the numbers of any system, patterns emerge. Therefore, there are patterns everywhere in nature. Evidence: The cycling of disease epidemics;the wax and wane of caribou populations; sun spot cycles; the rise and fall of the Nile. So, what about the stock market? The universe of numbers that represents the global economy. Millions of hands at work, billions of minds. A vast network, screaming with life. An organism. A natural organism. My hypothesis: Within the stock market, there is a pattern as well... Right in front of me... hiding behind the numbers. Always has been.
Time to get back to work.
An excerpt from the rough draft of the essay that's due Monday:
It may be more appropriate to approach this book as a poem of fragments. Take the scene in which the narrator reads a newspaper: "The greed spilling through the type is poetry. Where the oil and gas could be / Where offshore oil already exists / Close to the border finds / special feature / big bear / Production forecasts rocket / As seen from Sydney" (174) and so on. Take any scene. Temporality exists only through haunting - the past popping up in the present; temporality, that is to say, exists in this text as and only as anachronism - and, in such a matter, serves as the means of its own destruction, resurrection, and comprehensibility. The long, unbroken stretches of narration that spanned months within a single passage no longer exist - indeed, have never existed. Everything is set apart by (literal) blank, homogenous space. While the narrative(s) contained within the text do indeed move forward through time, they do so haltingly, failingly, endlessly disrupted, interrupted, in improbable, unpredictable, nearly unmappable relations to each other; the topography of the narrative is impassible in the conventional sense.
Boom. (the report)
Eat the rich.
And all y'all have yourselves a great day.