Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.63.0605131756490.17058@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.aol.com>,
"WRYTING-L : Writing and Theory across Disciplines" <WRYTING-L@LISTSERV.UTORONTO.CA>
Subject: The Story
Date: Sat, 13 May 2006 17:57:05 -0400 (EDT)
The Story I drive a 2005 Jaguar S Type. Taking home 6 digit level in 18 months. Having a great time. It's a blast and I am a hero to the courts and to my clients. What an outstanding career to be in. I know God is on my side. At night I pray for my good fortune. I wonder how many will believe me, or how many will just find this "literature." I hate literature with a passion; it is not the force that drives this mighty civilization. Doing exactly what God tells me to do is working beautifully. I go to the court and locate all of the clients I can handle. Some say this is a court "of last resort." I say this is the difference between Law and Justice, between reason and the vigilante. For I mete out Justice which some find Law. I find all assets and employment. Funds arrive to my PO Box. It's like magic. I love it. I can take a holiday when ever I have a whim to do so. Hawaii and a 1050 footer to the Panama Canal this year. Yes, God has been good to me; my boat is one fifth of a mile long, less 30 feet. It is a wonderful length and I walk it during my meditation. For I do question the mathematics of this world, and my Jaguar and 1200 foot boat do not distract from my ultimate goal of solving this world's problem, while retaining an absent ontology which some may well considered entitled to the name of "Absolute." Here is what I have dreamed, closing the great chasm that lies between us: "Thereupon I descended until, as the ocean's surface came nearer and near- er, I discovered a tiny island lying almost directly underneath me. It was hardly big enough to make a dot on the biggest map, but a clump of trees grew in the central portion, while around the edges were jagged rocks protecting a sandy beach and a stretch of flower-strewn upland leading to the trees." Now it is clear that the island is that of mathematics, and the central portion is the refuge of axiomatics. I am certain as well that the clump of trees is the effusion of postulates necessary to remind us of our finitude in the grasp of idealities. Moreso, the jagged rocks are those of chaos and catastrophe theories forced from smooth manifolds, just as the flower-strewn upland references the set of those cellular automata whose patterning is inherently irregular. My house is filled with the latest plasma, RFID, and wireless technolo- gies, yet I do not seem happy, not even when I have completed mergers, foreclosures, or buyouts. I cannot reasonably deny that a central core, if such there be, is missing from my life. But when I close my eyes, or ride at high-speed in my Jaguar S, Something tells me it has all been worth it. My only question is: What, or who, is that Something? Where is happiness? When is joy?