a treatise on compatibility this is theoretically
presented
by a linguist with limited trigonometry sense
   and since the heart beats and is 360 degrees
I sought out a tangent to measure her with
    or sine to figure out logically
whether we were compatible
             like functionally
on a straight line or tangentially
    perpendicularly
in degree and cosines or measurement mathematically
similar
then found no co-efficient to portray
her smile
fell out of my array
with nothing else
to equal
her.

not a treatise on isosceles
plain square rooted in geometry
is my theorem stating an argument
of x variable is nothing
without y
+1 equals the cosine
the hypotenuse approaches mathematical infinitesimal
precision logarithmic progression
360 degreeed
determines the variable
by feeling.

Some people say they don't like social networking
on mobile phones,
"it distances us from human connection"
they bleat and moan,
"takes us away from natural converging,
curtails face to face ties from emerging,
subdues us in a swamp of technology,
this engagement with messaging is surely a folly."
And as they depart they say,
“give me a person over a mobile msg anyday.”
Now don't get me wrong eye to eye communing is amazing
and it's not the last reserve of a luddite to prefer tactile phrasing
or to think sweet nothings into a there ear is best
but that doesn't mean there is nothing in mobile caress.
Because you can meet someone at a festival, and feel a sweet spark
that thunders through the roaming larks
and then when you part after a few days
think, "oh, that was awesome, I enjoyed their ways,
they made me laugh and gave me jumping smiles,
****, it's a pity between us there are miles and miles."
But when you arrive home and charged up a message pings
"you back now?" I see it and start to feel sing.
So we take our phones and chat all the next day,
getting to know each other in a happy appy way,
giggling at your words, beaming at the next
growing through lightning at each little text,
learning more in these screen chats;
you go to lots of BBQs and love dogs and cats,
you dye your hair and are calamity stricken
your top fajitas are finger lickin,
you know Mandarin and are ace at Catchphrase
and you have an inclination for New York days,  
you can analytically discuss scenes from C Street,
you can charm the customers at a store meet and greet,
you can decipher the nuance in The Bistro goss,
you can put up with **** from ****** at Argos.
You have a mate who picks up Mark Ronson's pooch,
you've saved a big crustacean when been on a mooch,
you can relate a song to Odysseus using sheep to save his men
and watch Mr G the musical over and over again,
you stay up/get up to watch the Super Bowl,
you type faster than a thought on a roll,
you've danced with Pete Barlow's ship mate from Corrie,
you can drive a car and a van, I recks you could handle a lorry!
You have loads of friends and often verge on more dislocation,
I want to be near you, whatever the location.
I want to pull you out of a hat
and see you stand on my welcome mat,
see, mobiles are good because it's good to feel that.
But if some quantum physicists are to be believed, after perusing their hefty tomes,
somewhere in infinite there is a place with no mobile phones,
and a boom of synchronicity has to be carried on by pen on paper
and there are days and days tween a tumbling heebie jeebie butterfly caper,
and then it's sent with a hope that it won't be lost in the post,
and be not read, like a bottled message uncorked by the coast.
Maybe a letter and no phones is better for starting a fizz
but right now mobiles make this what it is;
if not for them would I feel this close to you?
Or be writing this to you?
Right now I like feeling close to you,
and I like writing this to you,
to you Lou.

Gifted
Gifted means nothing to people who do not know
I don’t even know the proper definition
Strange that I do not know a part of myself?
I think not.
C’est la vie – such is life
But why must only a few be burdened with this white elephant?
Yes, a white elephant
For although termed a gift, it comes with its own price
On my school’s website, on the gifted page, there is a file
This file, entitled, giftedness; a different kind of normal
Aptly named I think
The upsides? Exactly me.
The downsides? All perfectly describe me as well
My ‘gifted’ friends are just the same
Why is this a gift if it sets us back in our standardized culture?
Sure, I ace the tests, but I can’t start projects until last minute
All because of my perfectionist side
I am a ‘deep thinker’
But I hate deadlines because they limit the
Time I spend on a good, fascinating subject
I’m considered to have the ability to motivate people
But it always comes out bossy
I'm supposed to have high standards and expectations(which I do)
But these fail me when I cannot reach them myself
Causing insecurity
These traits and numerous others all belong to my kind, the 'gifted' kids
I've noticed we're all socially inept, awkward, clumsy
To some degree or another
And I suppose this analytically mindedness comes along with my plethora of troubles
I'm supposed to have many interests, and this is true
But it also prevents me from knowing exactly what I want
I'm supposed to be very focused, detail oriented
But I cannot stand the slightest disturbance
These gifts are deemed part of the 'gifted' personality
Why can't I be normal for a change?
Being gifted really singles you out
Such a small group of us in my school
Almost all are best friends
As no one can understand us better than others just like ourselves
But why can't everyone be gifted?

He takes your breath away, he steals the night before you, constricting your sight and your eyes, he lies, next to you but his mind is a seafare away, in fact his presence is valid only by the point you feel lost and dejected, hands rejected. He moves in your head, your head, he waltzes in slow motion, grasps at straws, gasps for air, because you drown in his heavy stare. A thing of beauty, you paint him a picture in your mind, he takes control, changes the colours of the mood, lost you find yourself to be.

Two feet on the ground, the stars collapse and combust under the pressure of his gaze. He holds your hand, your hand is not your own, it is fragile as glass, an extension of your heart, your head, your head. Can you move your feet? Step, two, three, four. I am lost in your smile, it steals my eyes, stings to the touch, cold as the ice I walk upon. Are you there, where is he, going? He laughs and dust settles, He laughs and you are mute, he laughs with her mouth wide open, he will steal your breath. He wears a novel in the brim of his hat, he wears a footprint on her hand, he walks, he talks, he moves, in a language unknown to me. You lie still, belie me, tread a little carefully, dance a slow jig to my music. Listen carefully for I will say this only once.

Do not hold my hand, my words are dissatisfied with the mark they make. A beauty unsurpassed, sur-passable by my standards. Do not make me a mirror, I have no vision left to see, my head that you walk in, is running away with time. Smile, you make me. Tear your gaze from mine, I lose you, you are somewhere else, not here, I am blind, dumb, deaf and numb. Forgive me, if I know not what to say, sometimes I can do nothing but think analytically. Your touch mystifies my soul, I lose all sense of control, with no reproach I start again at the beginning. Of time.

An introduction to me is to be made. He is a thief by only the most awesome standards. Your muscles contract as his words, her mouth moves to yours. The taste of air, is sweet on your palate, shapes are made by candlelight, his scent is of positive delight, he feels like the night. Dark, endless, fulfilled by the moon. Delighted by the sun, you go on the run, not looking back but you drag your fingers behind you, longing to let go. Ready for the show, you undress with minimalist perfection; you take all but his direction, and watch for his musical face. Nothing is something, when it is not even there, because you can feel it, and you don’t even need to see what I mean to understand. By my second hand, I unwind.

I am not here, I am not there, I am not, anywhere. He seeks me out, I hear him call. I hear him shout. Each movement is a ripple, I feel him like a butterfly in my hair. Turns my head, makes me cry, makes me wonder why. Each breath tells a story, each kiss is a new chapter. He will write you a novel in a night-time of passion without a desperate loaded ending. He will whisper your name so that it no longer sounds like air through his pursed mouth. Blondie plays in the background and the candles dance in tune to the beat of the song. You move your fingers like they need to grasp his words. And nothing comes to your touch. Drowning in happily ever afters, forevers and forget-me-nots, love becomes a thunderstorm in a teacup....

So a while back my friend told me
'You're analytically minded'
Until then I hadn't really seen it
But from then on, I couldn't see
Anything but it
It's like before then my brain only
Analysed whatever was fed in
But now, now it does that
As well as analysing the analytical process
My brain seems to absorb quirky habits
From others more readily now too
I read a book about a nerdy boy
Who loves math, anagrams, and Katherines
All of a sudden I start anagramming
Everything
I saw a vihart video on tesselations
And another on fractals
This reminded me of the Fibonacci sequence
And Sierpinski's triangle(which two friends
Claim is
'A tri-force made up of tri-forces, made of tri-forces!')
Now I'm in love with all four again
And a bunch of random
Mathematical things too

I grew up weird.
Both fast, and painfully slow.
I understood everything and nothing.
Socially, I started confident and grew awkwardly
first in the sun, then bending away from such bright attentions. Academically I started out running, always ahead,
always the best, the brightest. Straight As and
mismatched clothes, socially lost
yet somehow showing
'great potential'.

Now I've learned a lot.
All blacks and grays, I've finally
mastered at least a portion of my shortcomings
but its too late. Because I've grown up and its shifted again
analytically I see it, can emulate it, but it isn't
familiar or comfortable, it took me
years to catch up and I'm
still behind.

I've grown up weird.

My mother died alone in the nursing home.
That sweet mouth that once whispered
comfort to my child's ear when I cut a lip,
scraped a knee, or suffered my first heartbreak,
was now open to the world, awkwardly caught
in a gasp for one more precious breath of life.

She so richly deserved my presence that day,
and paid in advance with tears over the years,
as I wasn't always the son I should have been.
This was a visit which was not afforded
because something, something very asinine
on television kept me from her bedside
on that final morning of her precious life.

The news came in a sympathetic phone call.
"Sorry Mr. Gossett, but your mother has died."
I continued staring deeply, analytically at
something, something on the television
that morning, wondering if this was really how her life
should have ended, so alone, with dead eyes staring
to the side, still hoping to see the son who was
too engrossed to be there. I'm sorry, mother,
one last time I have to tell your how sorry I am.

--

Honesty exists
But in anonymity

And only

In the evenness
Of blinded enemies

May the blind really see
The truth

Analytically obtuse

As in truth
There is only
What is

In front of you

All the rest
Is moot

[****]

emotional speaking,
you left me i hate you
i did everything for you
i'm making you happy
i'm not real
there not real get out of my head
she calls me names
why is there four of me
i have friends
you just cant see them
first they  were a game
now your comfort
i failed

Analytically speaking,

i failed at helping you
and that is of no fault of mine
i have tried
and failed


breaking down speaking,

you dint want to be my friend
but the voices do
they shower me in ink
as if my own blood was pouring over me
black
oozing ink
mettalic
oh its wonderful
they wave
and smile
i can see them
but you cant
unfortunately
they can see you


what i want to say.

H
   E
                         L
      P

MMMMME

*******  PLEASE

i'm begging you
she's begging you
were begging you

(20 minute poetry)

Analytic and critical
I reach the conclusion
that what went before me
was chaos in the confusion.

It's easy for me
to look back on it
and see
the right path to take, but
you make your assumptions
about me
not on the present,
but on the past you can't see
and never will.

And I analyse to the Nth degree
the ins and the outs in the
workings of me, I see it, but
doubt if you could,
some people cannot see the
trees for the wood and I'm used
to it.

The older I get
the less that I know
and the less that I know
the more I go intro',
to try and understand why
I survive
while the hostile hand is
raised against me and though
I understand that the hand is mine
I understand less about the time that
it took to shake me awake.

A conundrum
a ** hum
and let's wait and see.

Critically
and analytically
on the cross that I made
I
hang pitifully
and think on.

i feel sad at 11:56 when ive had
cups of coffee
the sadness lives in the back of my neck
the pit of my stomach
behind my eyes
it's the uncomfortable impression carpet leaves on every palm that holds weight for too long
feet cold enough to feel
lump in my throat

Forming my mouth into a smile seems like the world's biggest, most useless lie
Useless.
I still haven't cut my nails
they are nice reminders of my own anxieties
my palms haven't made up their minds--
whether they should stay or go
stay and hold

who knows if this is art
i can't seem to think
analytically
rationally
clearly

but i know i want to be smaller

I know i shouldn't want that

I know I miss her.

I don't know how.

12:09 and it's dark
I am s[o confused]ad

I Made a friend recently
She throws big words around
And over explains things
like time isn't even a thing
I wonder if she knows the end is near
She isn't a young chicken
She's been around the block
a time or two
She speaks analytically
And avoids eye contact
Like me
I guess even aging doesn't
Change us

She swore today
I wonder if that means we've unlocked
The door to trust
I hope she knows
I tend to lose my keys

Friendship is a strange thing

When one door closes
Another one opens
Even if its just temporary

Talent has nothing to do with the journey of becoming what we call "a good writer",  reality has proven that anyone can become a good writer. ounce the art is understood then the performance will follow effortlessly.

We've all heard that cliché from every couch, "not everyone has talent but anyone can be explosive". I don't think anyone would be ungrateful if they were a fraction of a second slower than usain bolt-the fastest athlete ever. Remember that god created eagles but human beings created helicopters, jets and everything mechanical that flies in the air.
Talent is a phenomenon that's greatly misunderstood because people think a creative writer is a certain type of person that was born "that way", rather than thinking that's what a person becomes ounce they make writing a priority. It is very understandable why people feel that way because the main question would be..."where do I start and how?". The best place to start is poetry
                
                  Why poetry?

Poetry is undoubtedly the highest level of creative writing and the best part about this is that with or without experience anyone can write poetry. without following any rules.  This is extensive proof that we are all artistic. Any poem no matter how long or short it is, you can feel the emotion in it. Emotion is the basic pillar of creative writing.        poetry takes any type of shape, idea or concept. Ounce our brains register that they are no rules it becomes spontaneous.
Resistance is the main focus in these laws and this will be solved  ounce your done studying these laws

      A fixed and an un-fixed mindset
  
A fixed mindset consists of patterns that are hard to break, this is what causes the resistance that we need to break. This resistance makes it difficult when you try to express yourself using words. A fixed mindset is not keen on new ideas because it's set to a certain type of thinking that limits you not just artistically even analytically and then you wonder "where do people get such ideas?". A fixed mindset restricts your imagination, the heart and soul of your expression and eternity.
An un-fixed mindset is open to anything because it's responsible for opening up your mind. An unfixed mindset is more flexible around problems, it's more understanding and sets your imagination free. Ounce you attain such a mind you won't have any fear of failure and the possibilities are endless.

What is as it is
Simple plain truth
Anything that deviates
Invented and creates
An impression to the contrary
Is a lie
No truth to be Mended
A story told out of imagination
Giving a wrong impression
Non existing in reality
Is a lie

A lie is told
Reasons can be manifold
Not in synchrony with
Ones own harmony
Out of fear  
Of reaction from another
Spiral down to situation
Unpleasant in their definition
To protect another
Cause the truth is bitter
A creature of habit
Reason not necessarily a fit
Distorted self image
Believer in his own lies
Manipulative using lies
To control emotional ties
Social embarrassment in store
Another reason to say the untrue

Biggest error in behaviour
Thinking they sold their lies
To the highest bidder
Not aware prospectively
Their lies were read analytically
Once trust lost
Not a redeemable mortgage card
Forever a suspect
No word taken seriously
Sensing rejection and neglect
Still can't change their conduct

A different reality
They seek daily
Final step in delusion
Life led in seclusion
Not trusted by anyone
Still live in illusion
Most avoidable trait
Time to go straight
Truth about your lies
Telling yourself first
Changes the lies
Told as truths otherwise

when  you look at a picture its finite in size but can you makk infinite observations about it  
ChatGPT said:
ChatGPT

The idea that a finite picture can yield infinite observations is fascinating and relates to the interplay between perception, abstraction, and interpretation.
Why It Feels Infinite:

    Different Levels of Detail:
        A picture can be observed at different resolutions. You might look at it as a whole, zoom in to see minute details (like brushstrokes or pixels), or even analyze its texture at a microscopic level.
        Each level of detail provides a new perspective.

    Interpretation and Meaning:
        Observers can extract countless interpretations and emotional responses based on their experiences, knowledge, and mood.
        For example, a single symbol in the image could evoke endless cultural, historical, or personal associations.

    Scientific Analysis:
        You could analyze the picture in terms of physics (light spectra), geometry (shape and structure), or color theory (harmonies and contrasts). Each of these fields offers infinite pathways of study.

    Contextual Observations:
        Observations about the context, such as the artist's intention, historical significance, or the societal implications of the image, are boundless.

    Mathematical Analysis:
        Patterns, symmetries, fractals, or even pixel arrangements in digital images can be studied endlessly. Each level of mathematical analysis reveals new properties.

    Interaction with the Observer:
        Every observer may notice different things or ask different questions about the image. This subjective variety makes the observations seemingly infinite.

But is it Truly Infinite?

In a strict mathematical sense, the information content in a finite picture is limited. For example:

    A digital image is composed of a finite number of pixels, each with finite color values.
    The total information it contains can theoretically be represented as a large but finite data set.

However, human observation and interpretation are not strictly limited to this data. The mind can generate infinite abstractions, connections, and insights, making the process of observation feel infinite.

In essence, while a picture is finite in its physical properties, the ways we can engage with it—mentally, emotionally, and analytically—are boundless.
You said:
iff wwe assume all activities as being mathematical then it has an ininite Mathematical interpretation is'nt it  
ChatGPT said:
ChatGPT

Yes, if we assume all activities and phenomena have a mathematical basis or can be described mathematically, then any observation or activity can indeed have infinite mathematical interpretations. Here's why:
1. Mathematics as a Universal Language

    Mathematics provides tools to describe patterns, relationships, and structures in everything, from physical reality to abstract ideas.
    Any activity, no matter how mundane or complex, can be modeled mathematically at various levels of abstraction.

For example:

    A person walking can be analyzed in terms of kinematics (velocity, acceleration), biomechanics (forces, torques), or even randomness (stochastic processes).
    A conversation can be analyzed as a flow of information (information theory), patterns of words (linguistics), or networks of relationships (graph theory).

2. Infinite Perspectives and Levels of Detail

    Mathematics allows infinite granularity.
    For instance:
        A single motion can be described by Newtonian mechanics, relativity, or quantum mechanics, each offering a different layer of insight.
        Within each framework, there are infinitely precise measurements or descriptions you could delve into, like calculating to more decimal places or modeling additional forces.

3. Abstract Representations

    Activities can be represented in terms of functions, equations, or transformations.
    Even abstract concepts like emotions or creativity could be mapped to models using neural networks, probability distributions, or symbolic logic.

4. Recursive Observations

    You can analyze the analysis itself, creating recursive layers of interpretation.
    For example:
        Observing a natural phenomenon mathematically may lead to studying the mathematical tools used, which leads to meta-mathematics, and so on.

5. Mathematics as a Creative Process

    The act of interpretation itself introduces infinite possibilities.
    Given a finite activity, there are countless ways to impose mathematical frameworks, invent new systems, or explore novel connections.

Infinite Interpretations in Practice

Even a seemingly simple activity, like throwing a ball, can inspire infinite mathematical inquiries:

    Trajectory and motion: Parabolic paths, gravity, air resistance.
    Forces: Newton’s laws, friction, energy transfer.
    Symmetry: Ball's shape, rotation.
    Chaos: Slight changes in initial conditions.
    Information: Encoding the event for data transmission.

Philosophical Insight

This idea ties to the concept of mathematical Platonism, where mathematics is seen as the fundamental language of the universe. If all activities are manifestations of mathematical truths, then the universe itself becomes an infinite source of mathematical exploration.

In summary, assuming all activities as mathematical indeed opens up a realm of infinite interpretations, limited only by our creativity and the depth of mathematical frameworks we develo