Some trick, slight of hand, the pattern and number of the petals on a sunflower, and the light, that beautiful source, the arrangement something in itself, some {1, 3, 7, 15.....}.
Naturally occurring like that syrup-goo slathered Celine Dion cassette in her glove box, Fibonacci sequence.
Also, as a friend reminds: 3, 6, 9, the goose drank wine!
Not the Creeping Chaos of the odd half-addition, half-multiplication of the natural universe, but instead the opposing, not like the neural pathways growing and all that, rerouting and splicing, forking off into an almost never-ending set, a large set of numbers, infinite but for our lack of comprehending such a sum. Like the Meta dataset. The increasing tonnage of cat videos online. They say of Meta, they have more than a lifetime of metrics in their system, that no humans would have enough time and inclination to ever effectively parse that....
no human.... but a cold, indelicate intelligence might....
That Russian Winter of Old Age, losing the faculties of the mind, yet growing more and more in emotional maturity and common sense. Decreasing almost infinitely towards zero, even between whole number one and zero, trailing more and more fractional components, ever decreasing in numerical size, quantitatively, but increasing in complexity.
Reeks of high school, oh my brothers.
The inverse of Abraham Maslow, the corrupting of the FDA food pyramid, the difference between say an orange and a tiny truffle, size inversely proportional to caloric content, the whole work reaching not to RA, per se, past the Walmart, the benches at the library, and all, the FBI training center, not that, instead but death, and the infinite open sky is but an expression of some kind of dispersion, in which we but hear something of an A.M. signal, with much noise interference, as we gaze back languidly on the wreckage of the earth.
Contra-indications.
Pro-growth capitalism, racing to keep the stock vibrant in the eyes of the trader, beating inflation by the total of some 7-10 percent...
....and Megyn Kelly telling the story of the boy chased by the mongoose...
I'll sue her pants off; tell her an even better story.
Mechtilda of Magdeberg, the universe whispering that white noise, that breeze sound of indefinite existence.
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