Visual Representation of Book | Part |

Method: Mathematics: Book | Part |

Mathematics
/mæθә'mætıks/, n. the science that treats of the measurement, properties, and relations of quantities, including arithmetic, geometry, algebra, etc. – mathematician, n.

Method looked into the blur of light. Greasy creatures moved around finding their positions. A loud high-pitched noise reverberated through him. He could not pick where the noise was coming from. The noise was inside his head and yet outside it, it was vibrating his limbs with a crude oscillation. His watery soul was being shaken out of his body like an involuntary sweat. He could feel it, his life force, being torn out of his lungs. He tried with all his strength to keep it inside, but he was too weak. With an explosive rush his life was gone, he was purged and within the same moment he was filled with a cool calming liquid, lighter in weight and texture it flowed from his lungs through his body filling him with a white energy. He screamed.

φ

Yellow light is filtering through a window. You don’t know where to sit for fear of breaking the perfect balance in the room, so you stand. Looking down at a bed on the edge of the room you see a small child lying between the sheets of his bed. As you gaze down on him you see that his breath is quickening. Is it just an illusion from time speeding up, or has the child sensed your presence? You never find out because in an instance the child has deleted you from his world. He never knew you existed and neither did you. Lucky I’m here to remind you you did.

φ

Getting to the beginning of anything is the hardest thing to do. Once something has begun there will always be an ending. But one would wonder how anything began without it being caused by something that had begun before it. How could time begin without there being time to allow it to begin? It would seem that something that was separate from time, an omniscient being perhaps, would have to start it. But then where did this being come from, where did it begin, did it just come into existence?

Method didn’t know and he didn’t believe in a god or gods, especially one that had made man in his image. He thought all the religions were completely off track in thinking that a god would have any human like features. For starters human features are so restricting. Having any feature of a human would mean not being able to have some other feature. For instance: thought, by thinking you cannot not think. A god would somehow have to think and not think at the same time. How is that possible?

Method loved mathematics, but he hated the theory of mathematics. It’s just something man has made up to better understand the workings of the universe, he would say to his lecturers when they asked him what mathematics ‘is’. They wanted more detail than a one-sentence reply. Why write a six page essay on something as simple as 1+ 1 = 2 (or a ‘window’ if you want to be annoying) when all you’re doing is putting six pages of fodder around one sentence. To get his Bachelor of Arts (Digital) degree Method had to put up with pointless essays – at least it wasn’t law or medicine.

To escape from the monotony of writing essays Method vibrated the air. He would sit at home creating hour after hour’s worth of sounds. Unfortunately most of it was lost because he didn’t record it. And the stuff he did record never sounded like he wanted it to. So he would take prerecorded music and play around with it. He would speed it up, loop it, chop it and add some reverb. It got to the point where he could make an entire album worth of noise in one week. He wanted to develop a new style he was getting bored. His school wanted him to develop too but not in the same way.

Method went to ANU - the Australian National University - the best in the country or so he was told. It seemed ok but then he didn’t have any other university to compare too. Sure it was a nice campus, lots of trees, friendly people, and nice lecturers. The only bad thing was that the parking was crap but that didn’t matter because he walked to uni anyway. What did matter to him was that there seemed to be something missing from the school, like there was no soul. At first Method assumed that it felt that way because he wasn’t involved in any of the schools thousands of activities but as he slowly met people and was assimilated into their activities he realised that the empty feeling was still there. Maybe it wasn’t the school maybe it was just him. There was a death in the family recently, but that was his sister’s bird, which he didn’t like anyway, no it was something else. It wasn’t that he was depressed, how can you be depressed when so many exciting things are happening? Wait a minute, what exciting things? He had been at uni for a while now, he hadn’t met anyone new, done anything new, discovered anything new... does something have to be new to be exciting?

φ

Enigmatic, sexy and sitting right next to him. Method nearly died when she sat down, who the hell is this? He was on the bus home from civic which he had been taking for almost two years now - he’d never seen her before. Method knew everyone who took his bus, the 42, by face if not by name. Sure there are some randoms who get on once and you never see them again, but they’re usually public servants whose car has broken down in front of the bus. She is definitely not a public servant, what kind of public servant wears a miniskirt, none of them, besides a prostitute; no she’s not a prostitute…

Method had had a brief encounter with a prostitute on the first day of uni. As he was walking what would become his main root, he noticed a woman who was signalling cars with the old upward thumb. She walked off into a side alley and he thought that was the last he would see of her but as Method walked past the alley she came out and said with a slur
"Hand job for a tena?"
Method impulsively answered with a shake of the head, only afterwards realising what she had asked…

Yes she is definitely not a prostitute, she was too good looking, she had that naive princess type quality, the one which draws you in and then spits you out when she finds out you only have enough money for one bus fare home. Why are the good ones always so bitchy?
"Can I ask you a question?"
Methods elbow slipped off the windowsill, he thought he hadn’t heard it but then realised she was looking at him.
"Why are the good ones always gay?"
Method looked blankly at her. What was she saying? I’m gay? "Um sorry?"
She went on, "Good looking guys are always gay, or taken, why is that?"
Method thought about it, the second part of the question was obvious good looking straight men are taken because they’re good looking, they get jumped on as soon as the girls hit puberty, which is at the age of two these days. But gay men, why are they good looking perhaps it’s because they wear make up, wait do they? Method put moisturiser on after shaving was that classed as make up? Does that mean he’s gay? No because he’s not good looking.
"You’re good looking, you should know." She said after realising that he wasn’t going to answer.
Wow she was the first person to say that he was good looking besides his aunty who only said it as a moral booster.
"You’re hot too." Method blurted out before he could stop himself. She got up. Aw crap, Method thought as she made her way down the aisle. At the door she turned around and said straight to his face.
"This is your stop isn’t it?"
"Um yes." Method said.
"We’ll why don’t you get off and give me an answer?"
"Because I’m scared I might do something stupid." He didn’t actually say it but he thought it. She jumped down the last step. The bus driver looked in his rear view mirror to check that no one else was getting off and then the bus drove away. Method watched it from the bus stop, he was happy that he got off, otherwise it would have been a ten-minute walk from the next stop.

φ

Nothing could stop him. He was in love, or was it lust (it was too soon to say), and he wanted her to know it. It was a pity that he didn’t really know how to say it. They had met a second time after the bus stop incident, which she had walked him home from. Stopping at his front door like she knew where he lived, and saying with a knowing air "See yah round then."
She did see him round.

That night he went to a party someone’s birthday, wedding, funeral or some other excuse to drink your inhibitions away. He was standing next to a bonfire that had been built in the backyard, highly illegal, yet somehow appropriate for the dreggy atmosphere that was percolating around the party. And as he gazed into the fire thinking of how parties just seemed to be going down hill since his peers had discovered the intoxicating effects of illicit beverages, he felt someone brush against him. He looked up and there she was. Not standing next to him but reflected in the silver costume that the transient next to him was trying to pass off as ‘cool’. As he turned around she waved. He waved back. She stepped forwards. He stepped forwards.
She said, "hi."
He said, "hi."
She said, "can you move please."
He moved to the side, and caught on fire.

φ

Everything was fine. He didn’t get burnt; his jeans just singed. Well actually they didn’t singe; they just got really hot. He jumped away form the fire trying to pass it off as some kind of new dance, but there was no music and instead of a round of applause for his gesticulating, he crashed into another girl standing behind him.
Method said his apologies and helped the girl to her feet.
"What are you doing?" She asked, straightening herself up.
"Moving away from the fire, it’s quite hot." Method said.
"That’s the most sensible thing that anybody’s said all night." She said, Method agreed. He was surprised at how sensible a reply he had made.
"So what brings you to this party?" She started.
"The same thing as everyone else, an invitation." She chuckled, so he went on, "Well actually I didn’t get an invitation I was just told to come by a friend of a friend - I haven’t even met the person who’s running this shindig."
"Shindig? I think it’s more of a piss-up. We had our after formal party here and it was pretty much the same."
"What School did you go to?"
"I used to go to Bunda, and now I work instead of Uni"
"Oh, I went to Dickson but now I’m at ANU"
"Did you go to Turner?"
"Yeah, I went for a couple of years and then moved to Ainslie"
"I thought so, I remember you, your name’s Method"
"Yeah… and I don’t remember your name at all"
"Guess"
"Epiphany"
"No"
"Theophany"
"No"
"It’s fairly common"
"Not Deity or something like that?"
"No it’s Di"
"Di?"

φ

Ratios are a highly important part of good party dynamics. There needs to be 2:1 ratio for everything. For instance two standard drinks of everything for each one guest: two bottles of beer (light beer) for every one person (though there should also be full strength beer, which is on average 1.5 standard drinks per bottle). Two standard drinks per person should be counted for every drink you are planning to supply but you should also account for the length of the party so for every four hours repeat the process. For drinks and food follow the ratio 4:2:1. For every 4 hours buy 2 servings for every 1 person. You must remember to include every person even if they are not going to eat or drink. The most important party ratio is the platinum two girls for every one guy. Even if following the 2:1 rule for drinks and food fails the party will still be a hit if you follow the female/male ratio: It must be followed at all costs.

The 2:1 rule was discovered by the late great Dr Baccha, an avid partygoer and lover of fairy bread. One night whist perusing over the attendance list of a particularly good house party in the Campbell region he discovered that there was almost exactly two girls for every guy. At first he assumed the party was good because of the company, but looking at the names he noticed that over half the people there he didn’t know or didn’t like so surely it mustn’t be only the company. So he decided to test it out.

Over the next year he threw six parties a week, various types of parties, house parties, dinner parties, swinger parties, birthday, wedding, and funeral parties (his whole family died about four times). He invited people from all over, Iceland to India, from all different wealths, bums to bureaucrats, (though sometimes it was hard to distinguish between the two) and from very different times, Jesus to John Lennon (these two were especially hard to distinguish from each other). He found that no matter where you are, whom you’re with or how much money you have the 2:1 ratio will always apply to making a good party.
He was overheard explaining to Ken Kasey the exact reason for the 2:1 ratio. Here is a rough transcript of the conversation:
"Too many males will create a Wienerfest; any females at the party will have a testosterone overload, they won’t be able to go anywhere without a pair of eyes on their chest. They will form an impregnable circle each facing each other only allowing the entrance of certified non-straight men. While the men will complain about they’re being not enough women to exercise there newly lost inhibitions on.
Too many females will create an Ovary Club; any males at the party will resort to repeating the age-old question "how bout those reds/blues" - to many a variation - for every sport that they can possibly think of until they can come up with nothing but mmm. Meanwhile the females will complain about there not being enough men to exercise their newly found feminist power on." So Dr Baccha was heard to explain. Soon after he died of a fairy bread overdose.

φ

At this party Method found that surprisingly the ratio was quite good. There were enough of both sexes to create a homeostasis of the likes that was only seen in American teen movies. In a mystical kind of way it allowed him to talk to people he’d never met before. For the first time he could actually talk to a girl and not have her work her way out of the conversation for fear of him wearing her skin as clothes. He found he could actually relate to Di!

She knew the same people; she liked the same books, music and movies. They had been to the same places (and had never noticed each other). Method slowly sunk into her eyes. He drank every word that developed from the electrical impulses in her brain, which were forming the little puffs of air that left her mouth. He leant closer her eyes started to close his eyes started to close. BRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGG!!!
Method received a call.

φ

Twenty-seven and a half billion light years is the distance you are away from yourself.

Since the beginning of the time, the universe has been spreading out at the speed of light. The beginning of time was approximately 13.7 billion years ago and thus at most the universe has a radius of 13.7 billion light years. But this is only partly true; the universe is also infinitely large, like a multi-dimensional doughnut the universe wraps around onto itself. If you froze time and travelled in a straight line at the speed of light for 27.4 billion years you would eventually come back to where you started. So essentially you are always 27.4 billion years away from yourself but no matter how fast you go you will never catch up to yourself, because the other you (which is really the same you) will always be moving at the same speed away from you.

φ

In time something will always work out. Well at least for Method something always worked out. Maybe it was because he was so laid back - to the extent of being lazy - that he didn’t really care if something did or didn’t happen. Maybe it was because he hid his emotions from others and himself, which meant he was slipping into apathy, which is a bad thing - no he wasn’t apathetic - he cared about things. It was something else, although he knew that one-day he would either snap mentally, becoming schizophrenic, or snap physically and have a heart attack or a brain aneurism. He didn’t think that day would come so soon.

Method had applied over the Internet for a job at the local supermarket. They rang him up mid potential kiss, ruining everything. He was awash in love and alcohol and here was a distant voice telling him that he should come in tomorrow for an interview. Yes, yes, yes, I’ll come in for an interview. What the hell is the time? This is definitely outside of office hours. Now back to that kiss. Where did you go?

Di had to go she had got a lift with some friends and they wanted to leave.
"But think of how perfect the homeostasis is" Method pleaded.
"That’s the reason we’re leaving, there are too many gay guys here. There’s no one to pick up." One of her friends said.
"But…"
"Bye"
"Bye…"

Method went home, alone, took off his shoes and his heart snapped in agony. He didn’t even get her number. He would never see her again. It was over, everything, over. Wait, what’s this? An emotion? No that’s something stinging your foot.
"Fuck"
Method had stepped on a bee. In his bedroom of all places! Bees aren’t meant to be in bedrooms, they’re meant to be in beehives and when they’re not in beehives they are meant to be travelling too and from the beehives to flowers. There weren’t even any flowers in Method’s bedroom. The closest thing that even resembled a flower was the Venus Flytrap he had on his windowsill and that wasn’t even there any more, it died a year ago - now replaced by an empty New Zealand vodka bottle. And the only thing that resembled a beehive was the black mesh that covered his window, which was meant to stop things like bees getting in.

Method sat down to pull out the bee’s stinger.
"Fuck"
And put his hand on another bee.
"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck"
He pulled out the stinger from his hand and then from his foot, picked up one of his shoes and whacked the bees to death.
"Fucking sting me you fucking bees. Who’s laughing now?" THUD, THUD, THUD, "Who’s laughing now huh? Ahh Fuck"
Everything went grey.

φ

Once upon a time there was a bird, a flamingo. It lived on a river and it liked fish. It was an absurd flamingo because flamingos don’t like fish they like insects crustaceans, molluscs and worms. It lived on Lake Eyre and made its livelihood painting Dali-like pictures. One day while painting a particularly good picture of a clock melting on a lion walking on stilts whilst being swallowed by a Gregorian monk, the flamingo, who’s name was Frank, George or Jack depending on the way she felt in the morning, was spotted. She knew she had spots and thought she was the only flamingo who knew, until a predator spotted her. Who once spotting the flamingo blew itself up sending Arnold Swaziland crashing into her painting the sky was a rainbow serpent who was greedy for water but also wanted his daughter/grand daughter Jack tried to stop them but it was Chinatown the Indian knew, he had been watching now for a long time is measured in seconds, milliseconds, microseconds, nanoseconds, picoseconds, femtoseconds, attoseconds, there are as many attoseconds in a year as there are antimatter particles in gods are angry the end is nigh here nor there was a man from whence did thy sword strike you down my pants and you’ll feel the rhythm in your soul sisters are doing it for ever and ever is just one day you will be all by myself don’t wanna be all by the time this reaches you I’ll already be dead end stranger in the night is where monsters are you afraid of the holy ghost busters pants are too big for the interest rate will rise against those guys are crazy like a fox hunting should be me could be the one and only two cookies left no other left up to my own devices in this machine it’s human!

φ

Numbers rule our lives. They are probably the most important social construct ever constructed. They can be communicated across all cultures, 1 in France is still 1 in Bolivia and presumed to be literally universally excepted. Scientists and mathematicians are always going on about how the only way we could communicate with other life forms would be through mathematics. Yet no one has been able to use mathematics to communicate with any of the other life forms that we share the earth with; the billions of dogs, cats, dolphins and hookworms. Now that may be hotly contested, some people may say that lots of chimpanzees have been taught to count, add, subtract and find the area of a triangle. But, have they developed mathematics themselves? Are they truly grasping the concept that 1 + 1 = 2 or do they just know that 1 + 1 = two fingers and a banana? Two Fingers And A Banana… TWo FIngers ANd BAnana… TWO FINgers AND BANana… FINGers BANAna… FINGErs BANANa… FINGERs BANANA… FINGERS.

It’s only the fingers.