Is Space, Stuff and Motion, are Changes, Things and Happenings written by and moved by Math? Or is Math the Magic we make up to describe the things that tend to go on happening whether we get to the bottom of them or not? Are expressions dry and cold explanations, bound by reason - or were reason and objectivity created so man would not fall in love with math, with explanation.

I didn't know.

So I wrote you in Math.

And I found that the wisest of us learn to love without hoping to learn to understand.

While the rest of us fight the haze of our contentment to see if we can get our hands behind the curtain and feel our death in utter lustful comprehension.

I spoke of constance and of like fractions and of complimentary angles. I said our paths were plotted. We intersect. We are both irrational. I found our SINs and where they pointed. I described. I derived. I tried to balance the equation.

I didn't.

So I wrote you in Music.

Soaring and Bombastic with tempering variation both light and sad, but most of all I reveled in the only language with so many voices working at once, springing into life and dying. And my letter was not linear, but irregular. I let my conflicting thoughts play together, pushing thought on the rising and falling backs of ringing surf; braiding and breaking, building collapse at once with rising action.
I tried to bleed your jagged pieces into water.
I couldn't.

So I wrote you in Pictures.

Building with bigger pieces, the moments that hang together with hollows in between. There were only two pieces in the story, holding every sensory byte in unavoidable totality. Every one of your moments were so alive that you found a greater view than the look you took when you were living. With every drop of paint your every thought stood stark and frozen. An era, a lifetime, not just a portrait. It was the whole truth, unexplained and standing for immediate consumption.

Then I wrote you in Words.

Because not only is there no need for them to add up, it seems impossible to trick them into it at all. There is no right answer, only stupid questions. Our words are the most preposterous suggestions, wrong answers left alone without correction.

Words - where effect comes greater when all the written rules are broken; where every sight and sound etc. is invented the moment it is needed.

So I was able to create not only the pieces of your SELF, but each component part that built the pieces, and ever separate cell that spun a part. Words were smaller than brushstrokes, notes or numbers. With made up thread, I spun you into being;

a wiggling picture of concept, existing between the feeling senses and

I knew something I couldn't see.
And so you came to be.

Hypothesis - Experiment - Conclusion.
Exposition - Development - Recapitulation.
From Sight to Sketch to Canvas.
Idea - explanation - application.
I proved you. I demonstrated you. I captured and composed you.

But you were already written.
And I can only plot the world around you to find your outline.
I can only map the light and how it Hits you.

It's as if Physics, Sound and Life have tried to tell me not to try.
Enough!
Rest your hands!
What is IS!

And I, for all my life, will work to work out how and why.