Geometry, visual, smitten

OK, I haven’t been writing much on my blog.  I’ve been writing my geometry book ten to twelve hours a day, not including those hours when I am just thinking about it.  In short, I’ve been having fun.

One of the things I like about geometry is that is a point between the analytic and the visual, but we’ll talk more about that later.

P.S.  I haven’t fallen in love again.  In fact, I haven’t even been smitten lately.

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Published in: on April 22, 2011 at 9:47 pm  Leave a Comment  

Smitten: just kinda

She wears the ugliest shoes you’ve ever seen, but from there on up she is totally smokin’. And the way she smiles at you when her boyfriend is not around…

Published in: on April 30, 2010 at 9:30 pm  Leave a Comment  

New girlfriend?

She’s 21 years old.  The other day she told her friend that I was her boyfriend.  Good thing I like her.

Don’t worry.  I’ve learned my lesson: never fall in love with anybody whose parents are younger than you.

Published in: on April 30, 2010 at 1:26 pm  Leave a Comment  

A nice treaty

When we have sex, we both agree that is all we are having at the time.  We have yet to have a spat or falling out.

Peace on earth and goodwill to all.

Published in: on March 24, 2010 at 9:31 am  Leave a Comment  

Half in love

I know it is not an interesting or important question, but why am I always half in love?

Published in: on January 28, 2010 at 5:44 am  Comments (1)  

Romance and imagination

While working on the lastest draft of my novel this morning, I realized it is a romance novel. All my novels turn out that way. I wonder if this is some kind of failure of imagination.

Published in: on August 12, 2009 at 2:43 pm  Leave a Comment  

The Great Tree of Life

My Dad fought in World War II: North Africa, Italy, and Germany.  My mother worked in a war factory then.  They were American children of the Great Depression before all that happened  They met after the war.  They never told me about that part of their lives.  They fucked after they got married and I was born, me, a young piece of fruit on the Great Tree of Life.  He died all too young of rampant unrepentant and unremittent alcoholism.  She died in her Seventies from Alzheimer’s.

I exist as a piece of fruit on the Great Tree of Life, and as I write this, wither on the vine, fruit that has outlived his time.  Soon, the bonds that hold me to that tree will loosen and I will fall to the ground.  Another piece of fruit–rotting–decaying–until I have become molecules sustaining more pieces of fruit.

Published in: on August 6, 2009 at 10:38 pm  Comments (2)  

That brutal blank space where passion does not roam

You get home at an ugly hour.  She calls as soon as you get through the door: can you come over? she says.

You do.

Her youth shines beneath her tears when she answers your knock on her door.  She’s so distraught, she doesn’t mind you are totally blasted–hardly notices even.  Why is your shoulder the one she cries on when she has quarreled with her beloved?

There’s never been any passion between us no matter how hard we’ve tried, just this wistful longing like cold fingers that grope you in the dark.

Published in: on August 5, 2009 at 12:34 pm  Leave a Comment  

You can mess up a Stray Dog thing too

I’ll admit it.   I wonder what life would have been like with A. if I had not been untrue.  After all, she is the woman I left my wife for.

I know you don’t like me writing about personal things, but sometimes, that’s all there is on these sultry summer Chicago nights.

The question haunts me still.  Were we just Stray Dogs to each other when a Stray Dog seemed as though it was our destiny?  Or were those sultry Sunday summer afternoons lying in bed next to each other, after making good love, something that should have been forever if I had not fucked it up?

Published in: on July 28, 2009 at 11:42 pm  Leave a Comment  

Stray Dogs Reprise

I am increasingly growing less interested in Stray Dogs–no matter how easy. Now, what the fuck do I do?

Published in: on July 26, 2009 at 8:52 pm  Leave a Comment  

Unsettled

I brought out the old manual typewriter this morning.  I typed a letter to B on it just as I did many times several years ago.  I typed slowly so as not to make any typos, but still a few crept in without my knowing until I had finished.

B’s been working in Europe again these past few weeks.  She sends me wonderful postcards from the cities where she stays.  The postcards make me want to a buy a plane ticket and show up on her doorstep.  However, our meeting this year will be in New York City where rumor has it they don’t say their prayers.  She’ll be with her daughter and her daughter’s fiance, who I am told is a fine man headed for a career in law enforcement.  I suspect her daughter and I will be the ones who stay out past curfew sampling the saloons.  I think it will be the first time I’ve seen her since the weekend I taught her to drive.  She turned corners without slowing down and I prayed along the ride that parked cars would not sit nearby.

B leaves Antwerp this weekend for two weeks of work in Costa Rica.  B and I vacationed in Costa Rica once.  She had just come off major surgery for a tumor.  Her doctors had not yet discovered that during her post surgery nuking they had killed her thyroid gland.  She was tired and irritable the whole time in Costa Rica.  I suspect that was the beginning of the time when she had met some other guy too.  She’d never admit it, but I’m sure she’d rather have been with him.

Oh well, she wants to be with me now.  Quite frankly, I’d move to where she lives, but she is always undecided where she wants to live.  The thought of buying a place, getting settled, then selling a year later because she no longer lives there does not appeal to me.

The sun’s arched high into the sky.  I knew it as a puppy this morning shedding its light across the horizon at five.  Soon, the dawn will sleep past five each morning and I’ll be alone on State Street at that hour.  Things fade, then return in cycles I won’t outlive.  Things tend to even out.

Published in: on July 17, 2009 at 10:02 am  Leave a Comment  

We helped fuck the whole thing up

One time I had this friend.  She fell in love with this guy that we, her friends,  felt was no good for her.  My friends tried to warn her while I sat on the sidelines, my theory being romance does not admit of any negative counsel.   As it turned out, the romance did not work out.

To this day, I still wonder if we, either the most aggressive or the most passive against the romance, did not have more than our fair share to do with its failure.

No, I don’t wonder, we helped fuck the whole thing up.

Published in: on July 16, 2009 at 10:11 pm  Leave a Comment  

Love, chance, and flipping the coin

Recently, I’ve been studying methods of statistical analysis.  I have gravitated toward baseball analysis since it provides a good laboratory for applying statistical methods to learn about what counts as ability and what counts as chance.  Much of which we care about learning should be related to discovering what counts as ability versus chance.

I’ve been thinking about how love and romance might be amenable to statistical analysis.  One must first define love and romance appropriately so that one can attach numbers to it.  I suspect even those who have had hundreds of sexual partners can narrow their number of romances and trues loves to less than a dozen.  Lets take a person who has fallen deeply in love  four times in their life.  Lets say all those loves failed.  What can we say about that person’s ability to achieve love and happiness?  Not much unless we possess some numbers to validate or invalidate our hypotheses.

Flip a fair coin four times and count the number of heads.  What is the chance that you will get four heads in a row?  It’s 1 out of 16 times giving a .0625 probability.  Let’s say each time a person falls in love they have a 50-50 chance of it being a success.  Fall in love four times and you have a 93.75% chance of one those being a success.  If the success rate of romance it 50% you’d expect a lot of satisfied souls roam the earth.  Such does not seem to be the case.

The romance coin might be biased in favor of failure.  The chances of all failures in four tries might be much higher than 6.25%.  Yet observing a person who has failed at love four out four times, one still wonders how much of that is due to innate inability to achieve a lasting love or chance alone.

In my own case, zero successes out of however many tries doesn’t seem as daunting when looked at from a statistical point of view.  I don’t know the population mean and standard deviation regarding the random variable love.  I have done no sampling to estimate those parameters.  Maybe, my failures are closer to the mean than I think.  Bad luck might plague me as it does many others.

If success at romances are independent events, then past failures mean nothing with the next flip of the coin.  I’m not ready to flip it.  Probably never will flip it again.  I have a feeling the mathematical expectation is negative.  It’s like betting on sports against your bookie.  Play the game long enough and you will eventually lose all your whip out cash.

Frumpy indolence charms me more than romance these days.

Published in: on July 13, 2009 at 10:19 am  Leave a Comment  

The future and the exquisite grandness of Internet social networking

I see her in pictures with anther man.  She radiates happiness.  And I am happy for her.

Softly, the summer of 2002 comes to mind and thoughts of one of those other ghosts emerges from the mist we call memory.

The future is easy.  Sometimes, all you have to do is start over.  And this time get it right.

As persons, we are a collection of personae each with its own narrative.  Adding a new one to the mix should be no chore at all.

Published in: on June 30, 2009 at 11:12 am  Leave a Comment  

Looking for somebody

Some people are always looking for somebody.  Even when they have found them, they get bored and start looking anew.  Other people are never exactly looking.  They accept chance as it happens.

Let’s say those are two well defined categories of people.  How do you quantify what happens?  How do you make sense of it all?

Published in: on June 23, 2009 at 2:06 pm  Leave a Comment  

Check my last, (or hers)

She calls me.  She says he wasn’t as serious as she thought.  She says she was ambivalent in the first place.  I tell her hanging out together is still on my agenda.  (That’s so cold saying it that way.)  Fuck it; she’s no longer in my heart.  It ain’t going to happen.

Some people you desire for your whole life.  Others fade into blue as swiftly as you can make it happen.

Color her blue.  But don’t get me wrong.  I’ll always remember her that Sunday afternoon at the coffee shop when she first opened Middlemarch.  I’m going to miss discussing it with her, but I barely understand it myself.  By the time she is my age and read it several times, she will know much more about it than me.

I hope the children she will eventually have understand just how smart her Mom is.

Published in: on June 23, 2009 at 1:37 pm  Leave a Comment  

That river keeps rolling though

I’m at her place.  I wait for her to wake up.  She finally stumbles out of bed.  I make her scrambled eggss for breakfast in the afternoon.  While she eats, she tells me it wouldn’t be a good thing if we saw each other the way we have, for she has found someone else.

For some damned reason I think about a river in Iowa.  The water keeps on rolling lazily down it just as it it did when I was a kid when I fished and swam in it.  I want to be a little boy again–I guess.

Later, at night, I have a V sighting at the bar.  She’s as pretty as she ever was–more so if you ask me truly.

I wake in the morning.  The first thing I think of is where the time goes.  It seems as though it is like that damned old river rolling along regardless of whether it is me or some new boy she has found to enjoy her enticements.

Published in: on June 23, 2009 at 8:38 am  Leave a Comment  

That smile

She’s not old enough to drink.  She doesn’t drink much anyway.  We’ve agreed that we will not introduce each other to our social circles.  She just calls me when she wants to see me.  (And she does at the strangest hours.)

She says she will be gone soon.  Little does she know what being gone is really all about.

One afternoon, while I was sitting on the couch in her apartment and staring at my iPhone, she asked me what I was doing.  I told her I was reading War and Peace.  On your phone? she said.  Yes.  I love you, she said.

She’s reading Middlemarch right now.  It entrances and enthralls her just as it did me when I first read it when she was but a baby.  I like it that a book can transcend two generations and more.  I try to avoid talking about Middlemarch with her.  She needs to have it for her own without my intrusion.

Soon, she will be gone.  My life will be more impoverished for it.  Yet all the better too.  I’ll always remember that afternoon sitting on her couch and her saying that she loved me for the paltry exercise of reading War and Peace.  And of course, her hand on my face at times will always be remembered.

Oh, and that smile.

Published in: on June 22, 2009 at 1:29 am  Leave a Comment  

Legs behind her head

I’m out on Twitter and run into this message at the site of a friend. Who posted it I do not know.

I’m a gymnast so I’m very flexible. Ever fucked a girl with her legs behind her head?

Actually, I did on more than one occasion.

Published in: on June 20, 2009 at 8:52 am  Comments (1)  

In love again?

Got the new iPhone today. I think I’m in love again

Published in: on June 19, 2009 at 7:58 pm  Leave a Comment  

Baseball, statistics, the Reimann Hypothesis, and random consciousness

I have baseball fever more than usual this spring. Baseball means statistics, especially if you play a lot of fantasy baseball. Statistics means wondering what statistics are significant and which ones are just random noise.

My mind wondered across all that tonight and led me into thinking about the statistical regularity of the distribution of prime numbers, which continued on to the Reimann Hypothesis, for the holy grail with the prime numbers is to find a function that estimates the distribution well.

But that is not the point. Why have I have been thinking about what I have been thinking about today? The previous two days I thought about lost love–something that seems unrelated to the above. What causes these large shifts in the preoccupation of consciousness? How much is causal and how much due to randomness? What will my mind be occupied with tomorrow?

And why do I continue to suffer from this profound sense of melancholy that will not go away?

Published in: on June 1, 2009 at 10:12 pm  Leave a Comment  

Over?

When is a love affair over? You try to put a final period at the end of its last sentence, yet it refuses an ending. Love always begs to write one more sentence, defying the desire to put a last flourish on the whole. Love’s embers flare and spark and rekindle , searing the heart. Love is a book never finished.

Published in: on May 5, 2009 at 9:28 am  Leave a Comment  

Waves

She spends a lot of time in Poland and India now. She sends me postcards from her travels. That’s her way of saying she loves me. She only uttered those words once to me all the time I have known her. And that was during a passionate moment. She’s in India, Poland, California, or wherever, yet I still love her too.

I think of her by the ocean somewhere in the world and writing postcards to me. Warm waves lap upon her feet at the edge of the ocean. I know it is the height of egotism, but I want those warm waves lapping upon her feet to remind me of her. I want her to think that it is just the way I made her feel when we were truly in love.

Published in: on April 2, 2009 at 10:25 pm  Leave a Comment  

Love and models

I’ve been studying my geometry hard.  I’m beginning to feel comfortable with Non-Euclidean geometry, (finally), especially with the Betrami-Klein model of it.

I’m beginning to feel the next love of my life is just around the corner.  Come on, Queenie, let’s get with it.

Published in: on April 2, 2009 at 10:08 pm  Leave a Comment  

A Sighting

So, what happened to V?  Well, I had one of my occasional V sightings last night, and as usual quite unexpectedly at the bar.  Of course, my heart went thump, thump, thump.

She’s moved on to other men and looks for the one of her dreams.  As for me, it is the usual tonic of beer and whiskey, which ain’t working so well as far as getting her off my mind.  And for sure, the chance meeting with a Stray Dog.  I’ll have to admit my Stray Dogs have not been half bad lately.  It remains a mystery why they attach themselves to a miserable broken down fuck like me if only for a little while.

I miss V.  What else is there to really say?

Published in: on March 24, 2009 at 12:22 pm  Comments (1)