Of Gold, Symmetry, Men, Women And The Universal Spyglass

Is it a doubling of the mathematical creation, that vehicle of universal traversal that sightsees, as a point of principle, antiparticles to particles and field reversals to fields, as if meandering in inebriated ecstasy on violating some antediluvian armistice, as though being in gross violation of any law was immediately remitted by the production of theory that was stellar but in the confines of three dimensions, spoke of a fourth, and in the confines of four, spoke of a fifth?

Does such reckless adventure warrant the devil-may-care visualization of a cryostat of possibilities, unchanging, unchangeable and unresponsive, an audacious tine thrust between the reality of the universe and the reality of us, the realization of some sub-space, in the form of a complex number - all of a sudden, there is consequence in the rebellion of lines, the delineation of circles; all of a sudden, triangles actuate triple-cornered existentialist agonies in a two-dimensional world, time stops in its tracks and commences a clandestine expedition to find its El Dorado, a land of gold and time that intercepts the inane past-future odyssey perpendicularly to the misfortune of some luminiferous aether already accused of shrinking dimensions - that evaluates itself, of all the options available to such hilarity, to be the square-root of negative one?

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="128" caption="X marks the spot"][/caption]

Lines that were once straight now "find themselves" by accessorizing with extremist veils: "Say, stop being a line and let yourself become the exponent of those variable mongrel on the other side of the world, and voila! You're one amongst the hyperbolas now!” Circles grow ornery, substituting their previously gaudy garb of infinite symmetry, and whatever merits were vouchsafed unto that endeavour, with the impudence to suggest circular solutions to particulate problems. Is it so strange, after all, then, that lines are to men just as circles are to women, that all the perdurability of the streak is trapped in the limited-destiny package of the diameter?

It is a sore betrayal when immunity from application is procured by the deliberately theoretical, and that they would choose to remain, instead of evolving by innate design, as base agents of corruption - which they are as a pithy fallout of demanding only simple skulduggeries be conceived that they can, nay ought to, understand and that no complex monkey-business be brought about by accrued mental prowess - who taint and blight the essence of humanity, that greater call of progress, development and the attainment of higher and higher goals, for reasons none other than personal whim. Should the greatest minds of our time stew in that seether of hope and triumph, in pursuit of fool's gold and all that is, somehow but adroitly, God, a Pynchonian spar of miracles, a Vonnegut's Ice-nine when it should have been Langmuir's instead, when they could tell us why beauty is what it is?

No! It is not a doubling of mathematical creation, nor of mathematical evolution, but of mathematical existentialism, some nihilist agitprop strutted by desire and naught else! No! No adventure warrants any visualization of anything that is simply beyond the comprehension of human minds, for only what cannot be resolved inside the psyche does enter the outside world and become objectively "real". To quote the fictitious Dr. Otto Ghloix: "One who cannot come to terms with the, one must say sinister unknowability of Light projects an aether, real in every way except for its being detectable." Delectable as that may sound for a business proposition, I suggest you not meddle with those who don't deserve to be meddled with.

Irony?