The body is for life but must die—
yet there is an exception: not all is linear.
There is a feminine who momentarily dies
upon her unique creation—only to revive
before her Most Able Creator.
For her, no more death on Earth.

She was there before the first matter—
it was in the making before her most beautiful eyes.
The first and foremost luminary feminine
moved heartily, panning flawless flow,
aligning into the finest angles of the first matter,
across the nadir to the zenith.

Fathima's gaze shows it a mirror,
as matter takes shapes and forms.
But for one feminine true masterpiece—
she stands without a mirror.

Arts on the go—Fathima moves on.
Praise be to her Lord, who made her to measure—
mathematically perfect by birth—
gave her the Pi.

(Pi tends to circle the blank space within — feminine—
while the circumference of the circle — masculine.)

She can budge equally in light and in shadow,
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer and into a whole full number!

For 'the All'—the absolute One, Allah—
time and again she steps up but finds no floor.
Her measured steps, by default, turn 360-degree circles,
scanning everything on the go—still finding no bottom.

The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him),
the first luminary masculine, looks into the open.
Fathima takes the veiled angle—
looking through the evermore pi-decimal micro-hole,
witnessing the first matter: a water-drop,
surfacing up without base or roof.

It follows—truly a copy of the original feminine,
softly springing around serene water paints
all the matters to be created from within it.

Pious Fathima withdraws,
veils her reflection in it.
Instills a fine chip with her hair lock, and plots in
conceptual design: countless conditional Boolean gates,
preventing intersection between two circles—
her original and its congruent first natural matter.

The cosmos has not yet forgotten—
it still follows suit.

First, a star was born, stepping into Fathima’s shoe.
It tried—so did the full set of galaxies—
only to disperse into profound constellations,
never finding the bottom.

Amidst this water circle floats the first clay soil—
Allah SWT called it His House,
the first creation from it.
Every planetary orb pilgrimages around it at the core,
named the Ka'bah, rising up to the heart of the Earth.

Following the first masculine in the pre-design,
Fathima—the first feminine—
pilgrimaged around it,
not in the open,
but strictly under the patternless pi veil.

Nature is never uneven in the hand of the uneven pi;
every little fraction, every smallest decimal, counts—
connecting to the dot,
showing pattern or not.
Long live—the digital charisma is on the rise!

The sun rises and retraces back in the middle lane;
the black box scores at the end of the day—
it’s only a dark chart.

The Moon is yet to moon over an unturned sublunary dip;
it pulls the seas—the mighty watermass—
yet the Earth cannot sync fully into the feminine water cycle,
save only one—
with Fathima, floating out of the box, beyond reach.

Like millions ever wonder—
where Fathima’s grave is:
the Earth strived, too, to the death-bite
to print her footprint—yet could not.

You swell some strain on me,
You, middle kingdom!
Eradicating small detachments,
Of both sailors and marines.

They were ranked on islets and reefs,
With an integer of nine –
There in the island next to me,
I’m sure, you know who Spratly is.

Always wanting such detachment
To be eradicated by your own;
Now stationed
On a World War II era landing ship.

Your toy-ships came near me,
With 9-kilometer of the LST.
“It’s there illegally,”
How adamant that be!

I’ve tipped you off already,
Surely will I stand firm!
Then, you’ve countered me on! –
Opting for the ******* of more skyscrapers;
Those that are on stilts;
Now nearby two Reefs & a Bank? –
Nearby my darling Palawan Island!

“There is no room at all,”
For the negotiation on some point,
You’ve declared.

Oh, here’s my friend, U.S.
Left us with course of action to try;
Everyone calm down,
Be less provocative.
For often, he flies over;
Probing some stuffs.

You are the biggest offender, my friend;
In this dispute, you show no sign of slowing;
Or backing, down.
But hey, I won’t give up!

(9/9/13)

Nothing is absolute
And there are countless variables thrown into the mix
Do your best to simplify
Search for those high exponents to bring your base to a better place
No need for negativity
Times can get adverse and even inverse
But you must remain in power as an integer
There is no substitute for you
Distribute some of your positiveness
To all groupings of coefficients
And their properties
You have yet to reach your prime, but you will

I want to write a poem
but I have to write code instead
There can be a kind of poetry in code
especially my code
I'm proud of the elegant design
of my loops and logics
my streamlined systems
My code flows

pulling the User along effortlessly
guiding them gracefully from one end of the black box to the other
and out again
No Errors
My code flows

secret haikus left in comment blocks
for other programmers to find
like digital hieroglyphics on virtual cave walls
test data populated with pantheons and
mystical chants from faraway lands
My code flows

water of ones
in sea of zeroes
pouring through me
from aether to mind to muscle to machine
bit by bit
block by block
stacked upon stack
module into module through function and parameters passed
My code flows

flows through me
until the integer flips
the Boolean switch
change of state
status update
now compiled and crystallized
Executable
and then passed on
leaving me
out of my hands
disseminated to The Users
like a prayer to a congregation
I hear the clicking fingers of their choir
singing the song of my code
now flowing through Them

They stopped making Pennies out of Copper here in the US back in 1982 because it was literally too expensive per Penny to mint them; now they're Zinc with a very thin copper plating.

Pennies made between 1909 and 1982 weigh in at 3.1g: 95% Copper; worth 2.5 Cents.
Pennies made after 1982 weigh in at 2.5g: 97.5% Zinc, 2.5% Copper; worth .45 Cents.

They started to lose Money on the minting of Pennies;
I feel that this is indicative of a deeper-rooted problem
than can be fixed by switching the composition of a Coin.

Pennies now are worth about a fifth of what they were just over Thirty years ago;
Yet they still represent the same integer of Currency.

The American Dollar has seen better days
The American Dollar seems on it's last legs.

Back in the day, money was fixed to mineral values,
but it seems now that Money is in the Eye of the Beholder, rather than the Hand of the Holder.

The Searching Yeti and UFO/
Stocked home love of youth and foe/
mysteries of deep, songs that bellow/
I'm waving wheat surrounding crop circle/
and I Am The Bed with Fibonacci flower
holding  on to summer showers


The hot oil tuned in chopped green thyme/
wrinkled strips sandy brown sugared lines/
tossed on foul fried, lemon and vinegar /
long or short  grain I'll be the same integer/
I Am The Bed of rice soaked in what you savor

The breath of air/
Vibration! Everywhere?
Pitter Patter Crescendo Flare...
Ready for rivers of precipitation /
before Pen and Paper dissemination /
I Am The Bed dried wide open
Streaming to the notion ocean.

i once met an old
man
who did
sudoku
with ink and
pen

black or blue
it didn't
much matter
one way
or another

so long as
it was never
pencil
he despised
pencil on
principle

on those rare
occasions
when he'd make a
mistake

he refused
to cross out the incorrect
integer

i asked him
why
one sunny
summer day
and he told me

that we can't cross out
our choices
or erase
our mishaps
we can only
turn the page

and on he went
to his next
puzzle

I'm very good with numbers; Always been inside my brain
They freely shift and move about; Allowed to dance and play
However, one equation baffles and confuses me
That one plus one will equal two; This is not what I see

It's people who must be confused; Wrong value they give "one"
Because the single integer alone can't have much fun
It's only with another "one" first one will come to life
With purpose, reason, starts to smile; Now feeling satisfied

The presence of the second one gives first one happiness
When one is standing all alone life has not much to give
Can not survive a vacuum; It is dark and empty space
No digit there to interact; One's value just a waste

Some people disagree with me; Say one is fine alone
And doesn't need another one for value to be shown
I don't completely disagree but my experience
That I feel most fulfilled with life when I receive and give

The elegance of the exchange; Where miracles exist
Life's greatest gift is that of love but with it there's one twist
How it takes two to tango; Love is not a solo dance
To give another all your heart is taking a big chance

But can't compare reward to risk; The blissful ecstasy
Cause "one" is more like just a half but with love it's complete

this marauding dark.
  a bleak behemoth ---
  the head of the chimera.

  integer by
  blind integer,
  life's
  absolute emptiness.
  a sidereal zero.
  caught in the web
  of a relentless
   tarantula.
  this
    dead end
      or this ***** in
   the armor.

  life's what you make it.
  i make it like this:
  intractable like a fiend,
  these words unsheathe like
  rusting swords in old scabbards.
  i astonish death with smallness.

Hello morning, I have anticipated you since
I awoke to the small barking dog's tailored speak for food.

I want that Eddie should start preparing her own meals. I know that while I smoke this morning's cigarette, that French Bulldog inside contemplates the fifty dollar bag of high-grade kibble she has pushed me to buy her or instead enjoying her own ****. And all of my wives friends call her a lady.

I want to ride alone in our FJ Cruiser through Yellowstone at dawn, before the predators have gone to bed and the tourists make their queues, I want to beat morning until I have found the wolves, and the sun rise mocks me as I sit four hours in traffic for a cup of coffee as I round the shivering peaks of our Rocky Mountain backyard landscape, and the Tetons swell with last nights snow-fall and the warm autumn air sends plumes of frigid mist above the valley floor and into the skies above Jackson.

And I wish I could stand once more on the balcony of the 777 building and smoke the finest sativas with my friend Turtle while our significant others drink coffees and watch reruns of American Gladiators on a $14,000 couch waiting for us to come back inside.

I wish I could wait on the benches outside baggage claim at San Francisco International Airport smoking inside the white lines, waiting for a girl in a red sports car to pick me up and my friend Guy's absurd faces there to greet me amidst the fog and the out of place palm trees Inevwr expected to see so far North.

And it would be great to hear my grandfather play the ukulele once more while I excitedly fished off of my grandparents dock somewhere in New Jersey where my mother's accent insists she grew up. And my grandfather sings horrifically demeaning songs written in 1924 that offer little respect to women, but much adventure to young men.

I want to play tag with the neighborhood children again in the Summer of 1995. Even though I had come to find all of those playing tag had absconded to a game entitled The 'A' Game, which its only rules were to exclude me from joining. I want to throw scalding hot water once more into Simon Berman's face. Though I do not wish for him to block the water with a basketball and turn my face into Jack Nicholson's Joker.

In Chicago as an eighteen year old, I could count the chalk outlines of bodies as I drove down Fullerton Avenue through the Logan Square neighborhood. I wish I could remember those sounds the boricua made. I wish I could forget the burning runs I received from Lazo's burritos at some time 'o clock in the morning.

I've never been one for finding edible late-night eats. I only want the memory of being able to do so. I do wish that my wife's ex-best friend's boyfriend realizes that he's less the great Emeril of his kitchen and more or less is just an unemployed sous chef with a laundry list of felonies, rather than a wish list of awful entrees. At least in that memory, he's neither a chef nor my wife's ex-friend's boyfriend and instead he's just another hideous orcish ****** ringing the doorbells in some suburb of Seattle, announcing to each and every one of his neighbors that he's obligated to notify the community of his ****** offenses.

I just wish I was there to witness his humiliation, and enjoy the total collapse of ego amidst the long list of those decent people he has surely offended.

Perhaps in some future life I can enjoy watching as jungle rot solves my hatred, disposing of his evilness in small skin ***** of flesh that dot the sidewalk while his disease evolves.

I want more vegan eating options across the food desert we call America. I want to arrive home one evening and find my wife ancy to share a new study that American Journal of Medixibe has found on the benefits of providing non-reciprocated ******* to your partners. And I want to be the first to enjoy the benefits of such a study, that I'm encouraged by her to publish my findings while I attend a prestigious university I once wasn't allowed to attend because of my religious background.

I want to live in a world where violence is no longer a viable solution to resolving the in differences we as humans confuse each other trying to make sense of between ourselves.

I want to visit our local grocery store and find that my favorite $8 a pint vegan ice cream has been marked down to a more reasonable number and that there is still an abundance of flavors left for me to choose from.

I don't wish for much: to not have people ask me to speak louder, full-frontal ****** in made for television movies, and a decent blonde IPA for under $10 in glass bottles. Where in this world can a poet go and still receive the respect that was once given by the royal monarchy of The British Empire.

Now it seems those with the fine knowledge of words are cast into a class with less regard than street-drifters and the homeless.

When did our world lose major respect for the artisans of fine art, or the ability to render an opus?

28-integer news memos and 15-second clips of our cute dog eating its own **** attract more attention than a fine explanation of the human condition or the sultry and sophisticated sounds of my Argentinian friend Anna recite Garcia Lorca in her native Spanish tongue.

I just want to be gone before there is a consequence for finding joy in the human condition, and honesty and integrity are known as the recividism that takes down our nation.

We were once the leaders of a great country. We were compelled by our history to create and indoctrinate one another to achieve, conceive, and amend ourselves to thrive amidst the uncertainty of a mischievous and disgraceful society. Now I just wish to be in bed with my wife when this storm of stupidity comes. I wish I never had to be on the receiving end of a sermon set forth by business leaders instead of political achievers.

I want Eddie to make herself some breakfast so I can lay here in bed a few more moments. I want pancakes and fresh fruit juice for breakfast, a quiet room and a hard-covered notebook. I want to believe a great pen and a good friend could lead me through the exciting and anxiety-writhing times in this life, but I to know too sadly that we live in a world where we don't view it as a weakness as those around us may not be able to read or may not be able to write.

I
When you write down the word
"love," in a poem,
You say bigot words
like you are bigger than words.
Here comes the chest puff.

II
How is any body
or anything we make
like Frankenstein, bigger than words
Brothers say "permanent" like they say
"forever.”
That pervert stutter , let out with lust; they
taste their own wet
lipstick if it's Lutheran.  
Face paint for Hindu.  Making up rules
Because thems the rules.  

III.
After the second war
Frank Lloyd Wright built
houses for the young
men in uniform, well pressed by the years
we hardly mention
all of the flesh he has carved from the world.
Inconsequential, once they were dead
He is not remembering right
away, A live delay 
Remembers watching dad
On thanksgiving with the turkey and his knife
And thinks of stuffed gravy
When he has those dreams about drowning in the stomach guts.

IV
Infinity is a math, a faith
based on faith in numbers
to be counted, up and on
this is the fail safe city
and I can’t count past 100 without
losing count, every time
like god, I mean dad, I mean  

Space is the final front in the god game
you can sling it for pieces
And let them see light themselves
Make it new hell
An empty everywhere.
Not even, not odd.
The Repeating Integer heart.

V.
If you make it you broke it
already,when it mattered;
now it floats.
It’s a witch It’s a witch
Someone tell her she’s water
There's a pile of disowned sons
and daughters who watch Slavery **** on their laptops
every night in another pile.
Off the record, recording it, on the record
it skips where I need it
Living in filth.  Living here, in our own Dump.
Family dump and Feed hall.
The Dump is the one
Who lives on, and is our legacy,

A house that would be a house for just anyone
is a **** with a ******* for a father
And a father figure for lover type.
All the things we think we put time into
Are not containers and we don’t skew time
We barely keep track.  

VI
If you can be vague,
I can be vaguest, I guess
I could be some sort of zeitgeist and live
at that bus stop with the clock
in the corner. The one by the guy
with half his ****
out and that clock, metronome too quiet
to rock.  
This clock
which is just a clock, which is just a tool. Which means it was made for one
thing We made it.
my only sign that I am not from,
but of the time.  Which means I
where we did not
stop to look back for another
bus or Eurdydice soaking
into Hades' airway
because of Love.  She died
toes wrapped round a viper
who said nothing. Words
are the viper, not vague but
the death.  

VII
When you read aloud
and say
Love - without implied eyes
that roll, like dead do in the graves
you make everyone down there wish
for a bigger box
or viper.

When you start a line
without busting
out it starts like the middle of a stop
Not stopping, stopped.

He became the unknown algorithm,
a figure defined in schizophrism
all hail,
the archetype has risen
and let us go to war.

An integer slung beneath a gun
crunching bullets
watch them stun,
all hail
the archetype has come
and let us go to war.

It's Friday did you expect some peace?

Kidnapped from the holy,
Anthony's poverty is dense,
black daisy Italian covered
in the shape of the gutter;

I was stolen away out of the saints
Anthony, poverty is weak grove dark
with the daisy of the Italian band,
covered in the shape of Paratroopers
from the foxes, the color from the glass,
and the color of a white rising
in the skin, and in the pillows,
feathery Cebele delivers medical
services and the other out of the
vessel, 1 to the beauty of the
magnesium. For with the voice
of 1 will add to all your praise.
1 have a great idea. Anger, sorrow,
and seminarians the cause of action
is in hand to motivational, Lori 57.02;
56, Russia, Russia, Belgium, Russia,
Russia, Britain, Great Britain, Uganda,
Pangasius' Russia "19 19" pairs,
Turkey's Ryeman, Kenya Kenya Kenya,
Kinshasa United States religion 60 years,
Christian Armstrong, Austria, 41 )
boulders, Kenya is not a small group.
John Heine, our organizational structure.
3 red - red, white, red, black and red
Russia, Russia, Montenegro? Russia,
Ireland, Australia, Uganda, English,
many teachers, the first black, white,
while in the United States in the years
1960 to 2000, is the largest changes
occurred in the United States, Armenia,
Austria, Ireland and Sierra Leone's Id.
This is a free man. Little by little
knowledge and a little time to builders,
many of the people have gone back
East Policy - Russia's good war. arch
great importance. It is the fight against
God. Stock Fakzio of abandoned
Company, Company articles women
write kbps jack spontaneously girl
Shuples head Bombe Bache message
soccer No, Michael, Michael Draft
mouth after Black; black research written
by George Diapers massage for Gypsies;
mother and Duffy Until spider Scallop,
Beginners drawing and painting; the good,
and through all and in the good there,
and the war between Russia. TTravel agency
vehicles that are very important to the wheat
of Angels who for many years that in the
blood was angelic. Jolise in the Lori is small
compared to the ******, a mighty ******,
a mighty ******, a mighty ******, a mighty
******, a mighty ******, a mighty ******,
a mighty ******, a mighty ******, a mighty
******, a mighty ******, a mighty ******
for the ******, a mighty ******, a mighty
******, a mighty ******, a mighty ******,
a mighty ******, a mighty ******, a mighty
******, a mighty ******, a mighty ******,
a mighty ******, a mighty ******,
a mighty ******, a mighty ****** new
mighty hunter before the Lord, [and] began
to be asked ... "****** ID. 1, in the evening
was a hunter, and quite large. 2, not capitalized:
subsp. 3, it is not capitalized, slang stupid ****.
******'s welcome or reject the truth.
Real inside white Skincare silent ******'s
blind draw ****** in the middle east, the
play of the year, many of medical products -
if they want to be good human beings, as
well as Russia. Integer moms, especially
plastic on the face of the young people, the
devil does not drink angel sherry; Sassiam
Sands of some rotational motion pregnancy,
poetry, a computer clock's homosexual tooth;
Sky, childhood, broke the unwritten light.
DRAWING search. Thomas John Clark team
a ******* jelly ankles write in the light of
the stars at night, the price of first-degree
Christmas Back goggle back in Whistler bid
***** will be back in the field kidnapped
from the holy glory Gearboxes Anthony's
Italian covered daisy black poverty F Figure
hanging from the ceiling by a *****; *****
the plotular witnesses are like parasites,
spray vacuum foam vacuum paratrooper
form of white feather features CEBELE's
***** skin and cold water of the color
of the Fox and skin of John's magnesia
leaf clover shamrock: 2; I remember
the beautiful girl in the city of the beautiful
and graceful,and seven hundred of gold
he earned 3 looks very bright and servants
that had knowledge of the times,
and the women are said. White blind draw
to remain silent whisper Healthy Skincare
plays the years, and many in the Middle
East Medical products - if they want to be
good human beings in Russia, and Russia
as well. In the latest of plastic on the face,
especially for young people, the messenger
of Satan to face a wall of sherry Sands
of Sassiam some rotational motion pregnancy,
poetry, a computer, homosexual, clock tooth
Sky, childhood, writing Oh shines more
brake system of system of system of the
system of system the system of the system.
Picture search. Roy Thomas, John Clark
team, a ******* jelly writer of the ankles
bound stars for light by night CHR is price
of the first degree

Dear consumer,

To whom it may concern

Eye found access to success through word therapy

I am in control of my lifes legacy

Life as an integer in your prime

Dodging all the negatives to get to the positive vibes

Only to break even on the odd ball jackpot

Don't say a word to contradict your goals

Anything to get my own households

Shine from the inside and dark on the outside

The Cemetary doesn't make me cry

I believe the dead live more after life

Watch your words cause your words watch you

Sub conscious pattern controlling your view

Wake up human and drink morning dew

Back to the head line

Analyse your victim before terrorizing their perception territory

A model rather then a theory

The emotional intelligency

Dressed for the occasion and act like winning

Speak to the mirror and thank your presence

Break through your habit disorder

The human will remember everything before the word "and"

Forget everything before "but"

The dynamics to verbal behaviour.....

In retrospect I'd inspect elements that led me to neglect
and I'd tell you you're the best and I'm not perfect
memories I collect of brief moments in secret
Never for the fore, am I cheap or is it my stature you abhor?
I was second in the first place, it left me sore
Sour I grew but I always needed more...

More of you, more of your presence
Searching for myself in you, unfurning your essence
How I enjoyed taking whiffs at your scent
How rich I felt with a few cents
Just near you and your calm excellence
Just to talk to you and say nothing at all
Just that it is you I adore

But I fail to succeed to make you mine
My wits were shy, I should've known it would always be that other guy
I kiss your absence and embrace the thoughts of you... I die. It kills me that even as time flies you cannot rhyme with I
...in this; when I say "I" you should sigh and say: "I am You"
But The demands I cannot provide and so I dive into the sea of opportunity
I calculate the odds of love, I go as an integer hoping for duality
And I find that everybody belongs to everybody but me .. I die.

And live again.

There is always the square root
the road to nirvana
the mathematical equation
that solves the dilemma.,
the indigent integer that
itches my conscience and the
point that floats before my eyes.

Triangulating my position on the road to
perdition, at least I know where I am.

If the cat's in the black box and the white box
is bare,
is the cat really there?.
The idiot in me says it must be,
seeing's believing they say,
what colour is the cat that's meant to deceive?

Equations flow freely through the nearly enough now
and the answers flood in with the mail.

You're a constant attraction
A shimmer in a magpies eye
You're a prize, to be revered and cherished.

I'd like to feel like it's not my fault to want you.
That it's not a defect
Or a flaw
Or something I feel compelled to hurt myself to accept.

I'm somewhere on that spectrum,
And I know how far along
And the idea of being an integer coordinate scares me.

You're soft, and smiling and captivating.
And I want to hold and kiss and touch
And unfold secrets
And cause smiles to blossom.

I've never had you so close, and I want you closer still.

Its back to the basics....lyrically I was locked in a basement

I pulled out with patience..to only figure out what the combination of the safe is

Opponents shouldn't feel the safest
now that I am out, I will attack with the heat of Satan

sticky situations, suddenly slither beneath your face lite

fire burning turning applying pressure like a bracelet

smoke floods the room, then consumes with a source of hatred

the equation is suffocation...adding insult to injury, iron hands for the strangulation

a mist of the darkest entity is heavily filled with aggravation

a colored room dims dull, the result is desaturation

a tear to a basic word, is a rip to communication

an assault of the human basics
is taunt for the scared to play with
I summer salt..

only to land in a land with others who sculpt, there words out of pure passion
I ignite like a lighter to many matches..letters light, when the minds active
highlighted by spilled acid..my literature is but an integer, in a world that's radioactive

mutations form by the masses...

The milk run appears like
flesh trade. A bigamous
marriage with two ideologies.

The politics looks like
a fudged slogan. The silence
was broken by screams.

A dwindling faith, could
not revive the ancient Buddha.
There was no pity, no sorrow.

Activism wades on home―
turf. The colossal night
releases the lynx vision.

I am the cipher, you
said, will not connect
to any integer.

THEOREM: √2 is not a rational number

ASSUME: √2 is a rational number
i.e. √2 = X/Y where X, Y are integers with no common factors    (1)
      (cos by definition that what it means to be a rational number)

==> (√2)^2 = (X/Y)^2    (2)  (by squaring (^) each side)
==> 2 = X^2/Y^2    (3)  (by multiplying everything out)
==> 2Y^2 = X^2    (4)  (by multiplying both sides by Y^2)
==> X^2 = 2Y^2    (5)  (by reversing the equation)
==> X^2 is even    (6)  (cos 2 times anything is even)
==> X is even    (7)  (cos if X it were odd, X^2 would be odd)
==> X = 2P where P is some other positive integer     (8)
       (cos by definition that’s what it means for X to be even)
(4) and (8) ==> 2Y^2 = (2P)^2    (9)  (by substituting for X)
==> 2Y^2 = 4P^2    (10)  (by multiplying everything out)
==> Y^2 = 2P^2    (11)  (by dividing both sides by 2)
==> Y^2 is even    (12)  (cos 2 times anything is even)
==> Y is even    (13)  (cos if Y it were odd, Y^2 would be odd)
==> Y = 2Q where Q is some other positive integer     (14)
       (cos by definition that’s what it means for Y to be even)
(1), (8) and (14) ==> X/Y = 2P/2Q  (17)  (by substituting for X and Y)
==> X and Y have a common factor of 2  (18)  (cos we can see the 2’s)
==> The assumption at (1) is false  (19)
       (cos it says: “X, Y are integers with no common factors”)
==> √2 is NOT rational 
Q.E.D


POETRY!

Wavelength   I - XVI

The Hyper Wavelength accelerated the transit of the Paraps or chapters from the first to the sixteenth, having to say that the energy between these initial Paraps could not determine the quantized energy in value lines, subordinating themselves to infinite values that anticipated forms that would be transferred from somebodies. to other material and immaterial. Making the energy value elemental sediment where the energy of the War Animal became an edge of the equation due to the height of its strength and multidirectional hyper-accelerated mobility in sixteen algorithms in its Muscular Meat Piece until the Final Apud Tertium. In quantum terms, this would mean transmitting Zeus's ultraviolet, generating a Katastrophe that would be nuanced with the Value of V= h•k, entailing radiation in future successions of high-level electromagnetic fields and in the Katastrophe as a start in which nothing would mutate from other fields, no less. trying reasons from other unknown fields. Vernarth's Aperture Paraps began to migrate according to the iridescent spectrum of the dark value, emitting towards other darker areas, carrying discrepancies in the farmsteads of the non-existent but kinetically existing Mythology, disagreeing that a mind that does not imagine but its energy that inaugurates the axon quantum making possible the real magnitude of the union of the Paraps as an energetic pyramid that represents density that is arranged between Vernarth and the unimaginable light field of energy quantization, whose axial oscillates when transmigrating from its agreed organism in integer multiples h•k, where the impossibility closes all imagination that opens in a wavelength that is precisely arranged between photons that would begin to shake due to the intensity of square meters and the timing that would play in the succession of each Ellipsis in a medium wave.

It is considered that the intensity mediated by the energy will be a photoelectric quotient that will come from square meters in the rays of light and wave that would be broader than those that Zeus could hold if he demanded greater prominence and intensity than the time itself that allows him to be incorporated in the Mythological and Submythological quantum interstice. Remaining each surface illuminated with wavelength radiation with photoelectron braking potentials in the meantime when oscillating in each two-dimensional space that would be composed of Paraps XVII onwards, with the sole mission of preventing Vernarth's electrons from reaching the anode to subtract the energy that should not affect the kinetics of his parapsychology moving tons of information from great sages being dragged by this phenomenon of Submythology (e • V) where “e” would be Kinetics and V, Vernarth postponed to the phenomenon of systems of equations that allow determining what values are assimilated to products versus laborious neophyte expeditions, and actions prone to stopping the time that was contained between each Paraps process. Generating thus, a logic that will make magnitudes towards a real dependency between the world of the origin of elemental Vernarth with the metallic cathode of a photoelectric cell that is illuminated simultaneously with two monochromatic radiations that were combined with the relationship of the stars and the Katastrophe Zeus's ultraviolet when he managed to uncoil gives all speed that was the euphemism of Hellenic Astrality. Right here the luminous radiosity would affect the serial equal to that of the Sulfur bringing immediately the electron of the Genus of the Duoverse Itheoi, and the god Sulfur extending to the initial margin of a photoelectric god.

The maximum speed is based on the radiation intensity, influencing the speed of the photons that would advance towards the Paraps or Chapters in the Vernarth dimension, expressing long waves that would finally occupy the initial sections of Paraps I to XVI. The zero-energy and zero-motion of the plot in Vernarth's actors would be subjected to this quantum dimension Inter Paraps due to the poor mood of the primordial environment that would only give them the light frequency, which could hardly be used to release all the energy. energy stored by the hecatomb of Katastrophe of Zeus with the Ultraviolet that is indicated later in the intervention of the god Azofar and the Mashiach. When the field of action or quantum Axon narrows, they will reach the incident potential that will release electrons in enormous extraction and release ducts towards the cathode field that would move towards the Iridescent Nimbus. The equation of the I to the XVII Chapter will point out that it could be perfectly encapsulated in a timeless measure creating its own energy and its own autonomous sustenance among those that make up the parapsychological energy fields as adhering spaces and concomitance between the material and anti-material. Here it is only intended to tell what moves in the forefront in a certain plane of gnosis with another that in parallel intends to wield itself in systemic freedom by expressing what this quantum lies dimensionally in the events, since the imperceptibility that happens is not enough to stock up on limitations of a Wavelength that would correspond to Vernarth hydrogen atoms, offering patterns of the existing limit in a portion of physics, and in openings that exceed the length of a wave even if they became sidereal when arriving in the reading of a Paraps if it is that it be a question of coinciding in the Vernarth serial from V to H as the same spectrum of the restrict serial in each value to be considered. The quantum is sometimes pure mass of stubby and hyper-accelerated organism crawling through large portions of beefy masses that overestimate the value of length beyond an exhale that will not return from H to V. This brilliantly allows us to discover that Paraps Submythology they would cross the congruence limits of physics towards the tabulation of everything that silently transits visible and not.

The Paraps from I to XVI and the Three finals of Bumodos try to interpret that alchemy is the property of the god Azofar, while his quintessence will seize Vernarth's veins after strong sand cavalcades will make him fluctuate from this quantum of ending in Three-dimensional Paraps, and restructure its hydrographic purpose with tributaries embedded in the torrents of its ill-famed interior, and all the submerged extra-quantum Dorus-Xiphos, with its multiple ****** edges as a new ruddy alliance that will provide us with a new life beyond our sad mournful.

Is it my fault
That you cannot
Follow me into
The darkest rooms

Failing to see
The click clacking
Of death tracking
Innocence

Failing to feel
Parallels of pain
Emotions you can’t name

Am I to blame
Because I softened my words
To be heard
Whispered
Instead of yelling
Smiled and joked
Instead of crying

So you kept lying
To yourself
Measuring value
As an integer of wealth
Check marked
Your vacant heart
Filling infinity
With nothing

Is it my fault
Because
I did not argue harder
For the sane way
Did not strain
Enough to say
Please stay
With me
And our shared humanity

Now your boots
Sound of conformity
A terrible drum
Poking me
And I can see
Where this beat
Leads
But you will not
Believe me

So when you reach for
The cold and deadly knife
Stuck in the heart of humanity
To pull it out
And bleed out
When you finally see and agree
Will you blame or forget me

I used to be an integer
Now I'm a fraction of what I used to be
My problems multiplied exponentially
To sum it up, I'm looking for value
A good addition, someone to love me
Who won't divide us from the other
It's my theory of relativity
So let's have a slice of pi
A walk down lover’s lane
We'd be perfect numbers
Without need to explain
Why we fit together
Oh so equally
The perfect equation
I hope you're into me

Subtracting light and bleeding into night though white and not,not dark a spot lets through a little piece of you, and you
not knight,a damsel in distress could I do any less than save?
I am a slave upon this summer time, a bee line making humming sound and finding solid ground to stretch my intellect,yet I subtract another integer,point another *******,bleed a little lingering,waiting for my lady to sing to me and too readily I agree another touch upon this key in life,in life that's all I see,the dark and light,the melody,the reasoning,the happiness and misery,the woe,the war,the deaf,the blind who cannot see,therefore I consider,lucky me who has so much,who has the touch to touch upon the chords that make up me the song,sing on and so it goes.