Post by thenumber on Aug 24, 2010 19:19:00 GMT -4
-+/*[1] What we see first is striking; it is the product of the inherently destructive nature of man, and it shows the power of the elements, at the same time. What is, perhaps, the most striking about this scene is just how random things like tornadoes—or in this case a large fire—can be when they wreak their havoc. It’s apparent in the burned out classroom that we are witnessing, where piles of ash and bits of metal show what has happened to some of the little desks, while others stand nearly untouched. We see a man with very long, dirty blonde hair standing with his back to us, the muddled locks spilling down to his waist. He’s finishing a long algebraic equation on a traditional chalk board that has a third of it gone, jagged pieces remaining from where it was split. *[1]+/-
? = It adds up perfectly, yes, perfectly, yes yes, perfectly. Long have I looked to the APW and decided that factoring me into it’s mix would multiply things quite well, yes. It’s as plain as a quadratic equation to me, and yet…
/-[1]*+ There is an unsettling pause as he slowly moves his head from right to left, perhaps studying one of the many equations on the chalk board, some in a neat, very small scrawl, and while others are large, but still in the nearly perfect way he has written on this broken surface. He nods his head for long moments before continuing. -*+[1]/
? = That first man, yes, the one who took me to this place; metaphorically, not to this location, that is, I must be clear, yes, quite clear, oh yes, too many moronic people in these states that we claim to be united, but are not, in fact, yes, quite divided. He was important, yes; the number one is very important after all, yes, very important, yet…
*-/[1]+ The strange, long haired man taps each ‘corner’ of his chalk board four times in a rhythmic pattern, muttering to himself for long moments, before talking aloud again. +[1]-/*
? = What was his name, I know not now. Did I ever? He was the one who looked upon me and saw greatness, showed me what it was like to enter the perfectly symmetrical battle ground called the wrestling ring. Four turnbuckles, each side has three ropes to keep the two combatants locked into their struggle. It flows so well, perhaps like the equation I have just finished, yes, perhaps, perhaps, yes, perhaps, perhaps it is so. No, it IS so. Even when there are three men competing in but one match, that equals the sides of a triangle. Sometimes they are symmetrical, and sometimes they are irregular, but triangles are wonderful things. Yes…
+*[1]/- He takes his chalk and puts upon the surface of the dark green board a tiny equation, in both the size of it’s print and the time it takes for the man to complete it. /[1]+*-
? = It all factors out, yes, precisely, yes. I love precision you see; that is exactly the beauty of math. It solves all problems, and describes all things in the universe—perhaps more potently and accurately than any words man may form, in any country he may come from. One, the first—was I not speaking of him earlier? Yes, it is true, he was spoken of, yes, he is the one, the first one, yes, the one who recognized my brilliance. They say in brilliance often times is madness, I have heard them whisper, oh yes, I have heard it, yes, I know, yes, I know. It matters not, for I know it and all others who look upon me know it, even when first meeting me. Me; The Number…yes, that is what they call me, yes, it is the name, it is, yes, yes, my name, yes.
[1]-/+* The man calling himself The Number taps each broken, jagged edge of the missing left hand portion of the chalk board before taking a few steps back. He’s speaking to himself again, looking at all of the equations he has written, and then finally nods to himself for a few moments, before continuing. +[1]*/-
The Number = The name of greatness, the name that first one gave unto me, for he knew there was more genius in me than madness. Or perhaps he cared more for my quickly learned ring acumen. I have studied all the great wrestling techniques, from the ancients who devised it at the first Greek Olympics, up unto the relative newness of the luchadores of Mexico. I do not care to fly, no, I do not, no thank you, no sir, no. My perfectly weighted body is not meant for such things; after all, is it not better to be the hunter on the ground, with his bow and arrow, than the duck in the sky that is unknowingly stalked by that hunter? I am the hunter, I am the man who employs his tools and knowledge, yes, me, I am him, yes, and he is me.
*+[1]-/ He flips the chalk board to the other side, which is remarkably devoid of anything, but that doesn’t last long. Instead of a math equation though, he marks it with the addition symbol in the upper right hand corner, and just below that is the subtraction symbol. In the upper left hand the symbol is an X, which we can only assume represents multiplication, and the two points above and below a straight line is what he finishes with, surely representing division. [1]*/+-
The Number = APW, the time of my arrival is upon you, and you will all tremble at my brilliant symmetry in the ring. After all, does not ten plus one plus seven plus six not equal twenty-three? A dangerous number, yes, there is power in it, yes , twenty-three, quite potent, yes, quite, yes. Four styles do I favor, to equal the great foundation that the house of math is built upon, yes, four, she is a sturdy number, yes, quite graceful, yes, almost…
-[1]+/* He turns around now, and though his hair completely covers his face, he moves it away momentarily to look upon one of the small desks near him, mostly intact though charred on it’s left side, that has a large water bottle on it. We zoom in on his face--long and lean, and deeply tanned--and see cold eyes of icy blue looking upon the refreshment at hand. When he gets to the bottle and nearly drinks half it’s contents in one motion, he is quick to let his hair fall where it may. It’s not long before he has his back to us again, methodically moving back to the chalk board. He picks up the white, short stub of chalk and though he puts it to the board, he just stays like this for long moments. *+[1]-/
The Number = Addition is the first, yes, the beginning of math’s road, yes, the start of all things, the first step of the journey being the most important, as it is the number one. Also the most difficult, it is said, but who is to know for sure. Is not the last step the hardest to take, for does it not signify the end of the journey? Adding is the easiest of all things that math is, and I liken that to the first style of wrestling I was taught to embrace. And embrace it I have, haven’t I, yes, I have, yes, the first, yes, always the best, yes, the first. Simple, yet effective punches and kicks, stomping my opponent in the mid section when I have him down on the mat. Traditionalists dub it as the brawling style, but it is much more than that. It is derived from boxing, which the Western world came to know first, and it is the kicks and simple throws that Eastern man has come to call the martial arts. One plus one, yes, is two after all, yes, that is right, yes, ha ha ha ahahahahaha…
*-/[1]+ The Number laughs manically for some time before stopping abruptly. He writes 1+1=2, and just to the right, in the same large script, he enters 11+12=23. Even before finishing the last half circle of the three, he continues. -*+[1]-
The Number = The second easiest is subtraction, it is nearly as simple as addition, is it not? Subtracting one’s legs from out under him gives one a great advantage, yes, quite, yes, very great, yes, height is an advantage, yes. Grounding the high flyer, where he might add to his own measure by gaining the heights of the top turnbuckle. No, it is not right, no, not at all, not traditional, no, not at all traditional, not right at all, it does not equate well, no. What would the ancients think if they saw such things? Subtraction to me equals the mat technician style, the grace and beauty that the Greeks devised when building the rudimentary middle of the sport of wrestling that exists today.
+-[1]*/ Finally he moves his right hand again, frozen while he was speaking, to write another small equation. When he’s finished, he taps at the equation symbol four times before continuing on. [1]*-+/
The Number = I do not like to do so, but I will come back to multiplication later. For when I think of subtraction, I think of division. The perfect symmetry—which is as art unto mine eyes—of the division symbol, after all, is greatness in and of itself. Division and symmetry and geometry, these are my greatest loves, yes my love, symmetry is cleanliness, and cleanliness is as God, yes, where he to exist, yes, bu he does not exist, you my love are God, oh yes great Geometry, you are as god, yes, you are, yes. Grace and beauty in symmetry, in perfect shapes like the square of a wrestling ring, like the circle of that which great Sumo warriors do battle in; such beauty as mankind has never known. Division and symmetry, these things are like submission wrestling. Dividing away my opponent with the wracking pain of binding holds, yes these are wonderful, yes these are debilitating, yes these are the greatest, yes, my favorite, yes, they are the best way, yes, sometimes the only way. Division; much more efficient than subtraction, is it not? Simpler, in my eye, effective many times when other forms are not. Divide away a man’s arms, and he can no longer grapple me. Dividing even one leg divides away his mobility, does it not, yes of course it does, of course, yes, it is simple, quite so, yes, quite. So many brilliant submissions that perhaps one could not calculate them all, perhaps so, perhaps not; only I may know, in the end, for study is life, and life is the study of math, yes, yes it is, the others do not know, yes, they are ignorant, yes, too simple by far, yes, much too simple.
*[1]+-/ He chuckles to himself almost inaudibly, before reaching down and drinking away the rest of the water left in the large bottle at his feet. Even as he’s bending slightly to rest it back at his feet, his free hand scrawls some small equations near the X in the left hand of the chalk board. He’s finished three and as he starts the fourth, he begins to speak, putting it down soon after finishing this last. */-[1]+
The Number = Let us not forget multiplication, my students, for it is the greater, older brother of addition, and like division, it simplifies things and cuts down on time spent equating the obvious. And let us not forget that time is always multiplying away the seconds and hours up, quickly dividing our years upon this Earth, yes, cruel sometimes is the math of life, and yet necessary, yes, so necessary, yes, yet so unavoidable, yes, quite inescapable. Devastating power moves, a simple multiplication of the simple form of brawling, is to me what multiplication is, where wrestling is concerned. Multiplying the hurt my opponent receives is often necessary. Quick and powerful suplexes, they are most efficient, for they have a word and a symbol in them, X is as algebra, yes solve for X when you can, yes, they must, yes, or they will not see, yes, yes. Four of the greatest styles of wrestling, and they flow from my brain into my hands and feet at command, ever changing, ever guessing my opponent must be, yes, they must always guess, yes, but never can they fathom my equations, yes, that is true, yes, true enough. Time grows short, I must leave soon. The end of our time draws near, just as the time of my debut draws near; subtracting away and adding up, as all things must. My wins, in my mind’s eye, will multiply quickly to title belts, won’t they, yes they will, a champion I am destined to be, yes, someday soon, yes, all too soon for those champions holding the gold and silver, yes, lovely gold and silver will decorate me, yes, and I will decorate those titles with my brilliance. Leave me now, for I have equations to finish before I move on to my next destination…
*+[1]-/ The Number stops mid way through solving yet another equation to pick up and put down the water bottle four times, before moving back to his equation. Soon enough, random math problems start dotting the screen, quickly adding up to all but obscure our vision, when one last—1+9+7+6=23—flashes and fades away, much larger than the others. +-*/[1]
? = It adds up perfectly, yes, perfectly, yes yes, perfectly. Long have I looked to the APW and decided that factoring me into it’s mix would multiply things quite well, yes. It’s as plain as a quadratic equation to me, and yet…
/-[1]*+ There is an unsettling pause as he slowly moves his head from right to left, perhaps studying one of the many equations on the chalk board, some in a neat, very small scrawl, and while others are large, but still in the nearly perfect way he has written on this broken surface. He nods his head for long moments before continuing. -*+[1]/
? = That first man, yes, the one who took me to this place; metaphorically, not to this location, that is, I must be clear, yes, quite clear, oh yes, too many moronic people in these states that we claim to be united, but are not, in fact, yes, quite divided. He was important, yes; the number one is very important after all, yes, very important, yet…
*-/[1]+ The strange, long haired man taps each ‘corner’ of his chalk board four times in a rhythmic pattern, muttering to himself for long moments, before talking aloud again. +[1]-/*
? = What was his name, I know not now. Did I ever? He was the one who looked upon me and saw greatness, showed me what it was like to enter the perfectly symmetrical battle ground called the wrestling ring. Four turnbuckles, each side has three ropes to keep the two combatants locked into their struggle. It flows so well, perhaps like the equation I have just finished, yes, perhaps, perhaps, yes, perhaps, perhaps it is so. No, it IS so. Even when there are three men competing in but one match, that equals the sides of a triangle. Sometimes they are symmetrical, and sometimes they are irregular, but triangles are wonderful things. Yes…
+*[1]/- He takes his chalk and puts upon the surface of the dark green board a tiny equation, in both the size of it’s print and the time it takes for the man to complete it. /[1]+*-
? = It all factors out, yes, precisely, yes. I love precision you see; that is exactly the beauty of math. It solves all problems, and describes all things in the universe—perhaps more potently and accurately than any words man may form, in any country he may come from. One, the first—was I not speaking of him earlier? Yes, it is true, he was spoken of, yes, he is the one, the first one, yes, the one who recognized my brilliance. They say in brilliance often times is madness, I have heard them whisper, oh yes, I have heard it, yes, I know, yes, I know. It matters not, for I know it and all others who look upon me know it, even when first meeting me. Me; The Number…yes, that is what they call me, yes, it is the name, it is, yes, yes, my name, yes.
[1]-/+* The man calling himself The Number taps each broken, jagged edge of the missing left hand portion of the chalk board before taking a few steps back. He’s speaking to himself again, looking at all of the equations he has written, and then finally nods to himself for a few moments, before continuing. +[1]*/-
The Number = The name of greatness, the name that first one gave unto me, for he knew there was more genius in me than madness. Or perhaps he cared more for my quickly learned ring acumen. I have studied all the great wrestling techniques, from the ancients who devised it at the first Greek Olympics, up unto the relative newness of the luchadores of Mexico. I do not care to fly, no, I do not, no thank you, no sir, no. My perfectly weighted body is not meant for such things; after all, is it not better to be the hunter on the ground, with his bow and arrow, than the duck in the sky that is unknowingly stalked by that hunter? I am the hunter, I am the man who employs his tools and knowledge, yes, me, I am him, yes, and he is me.
*+[1]-/ He flips the chalk board to the other side, which is remarkably devoid of anything, but that doesn’t last long. Instead of a math equation though, he marks it with the addition symbol in the upper right hand corner, and just below that is the subtraction symbol. In the upper left hand the symbol is an X, which we can only assume represents multiplication, and the two points above and below a straight line is what he finishes with, surely representing division. [1]*/+-
The Number = APW, the time of my arrival is upon you, and you will all tremble at my brilliant symmetry in the ring. After all, does not ten plus one plus seven plus six not equal twenty-three? A dangerous number, yes, there is power in it, yes , twenty-three, quite potent, yes, quite, yes. Four styles do I favor, to equal the great foundation that the house of math is built upon, yes, four, she is a sturdy number, yes, quite graceful, yes, almost…
-[1]+/* He turns around now, and though his hair completely covers his face, he moves it away momentarily to look upon one of the small desks near him, mostly intact though charred on it’s left side, that has a large water bottle on it. We zoom in on his face--long and lean, and deeply tanned--and see cold eyes of icy blue looking upon the refreshment at hand. When he gets to the bottle and nearly drinks half it’s contents in one motion, he is quick to let his hair fall where it may. It’s not long before he has his back to us again, methodically moving back to the chalk board. He picks up the white, short stub of chalk and though he puts it to the board, he just stays like this for long moments. *+[1]-/
The Number = Addition is the first, yes, the beginning of math’s road, yes, the start of all things, the first step of the journey being the most important, as it is the number one. Also the most difficult, it is said, but who is to know for sure. Is not the last step the hardest to take, for does it not signify the end of the journey? Adding is the easiest of all things that math is, and I liken that to the first style of wrestling I was taught to embrace. And embrace it I have, haven’t I, yes, I have, yes, the first, yes, always the best, yes, the first. Simple, yet effective punches and kicks, stomping my opponent in the mid section when I have him down on the mat. Traditionalists dub it as the brawling style, but it is much more than that. It is derived from boxing, which the Western world came to know first, and it is the kicks and simple throws that Eastern man has come to call the martial arts. One plus one, yes, is two after all, yes, that is right, yes, ha ha ha ahahahahaha…
*-/[1]+ The Number laughs manically for some time before stopping abruptly. He writes 1+1=2, and just to the right, in the same large script, he enters 11+12=23. Even before finishing the last half circle of the three, he continues. -*+[1]-
The Number = The second easiest is subtraction, it is nearly as simple as addition, is it not? Subtracting one’s legs from out under him gives one a great advantage, yes, quite, yes, very great, yes, height is an advantage, yes. Grounding the high flyer, where he might add to his own measure by gaining the heights of the top turnbuckle. No, it is not right, no, not at all, not traditional, no, not at all traditional, not right at all, it does not equate well, no. What would the ancients think if they saw such things? Subtraction to me equals the mat technician style, the grace and beauty that the Greeks devised when building the rudimentary middle of the sport of wrestling that exists today.
+-[1]*/ Finally he moves his right hand again, frozen while he was speaking, to write another small equation. When he’s finished, he taps at the equation symbol four times before continuing on. [1]*-+/
The Number = I do not like to do so, but I will come back to multiplication later. For when I think of subtraction, I think of division. The perfect symmetry—which is as art unto mine eyes—of the division symbol, after all, is greatness in and of itself. Division and symmetry and geometry, these are my greatest loves, yes my love, symmetry is cleanliness, and cleanliness is as God, yes, where he to exist, yes, bu he does not exist, you my love are God, oh yes great Geometry, you are as god, yes, you are, yes. Grace and beauty in symmetry, in perfect shapes like the square of a wrestling ring, like the circle of that which great Sumo warriors do battle in; such beauty as mankind has never known. Division and symmetry, these things are like submission wrestling. Dividing away my opponent with the wracking pain of binding holds, yes these are wonderful, yes these are debilitating, yes these are the greatest, yes, my favorite, yes, they are the best way, yes, sometimes the only way. Division; much more efficient than subtraction, is it not? Simpler, in my eye, effective many times when other forms are not. Divide away a man’s arms, and he can no longer grapple me. Dividing even one leg divides away his mobility, does it not, yes of course it does, of course, yes, it is simple, quite so, yes, quite. So many brilliant submissions that perhaps one could not calculate them all, perhaps so, perhaps not; only I may know, in the end, for study is life, and life is the study of math, yes, yes it is, the others do not know, yes, they are ignorant, yes, too simple by far, yes, much too simple.
*[1]+-/ He chuckles to himself almost inaudibly, before reaching down and drinking away the rest of the water left in the large bottle at his feet. Even as he’s bending slightly to rest it back at his feet, his free hand scrawls some small equations near the X in the left hand of the chalk board. He’s finished three and as he starts the fourth, he begins to speak, putting it down soon after finishing this last. */-[1]+
The Number = Let us not forget multiplication, my students, for it is the greater, older brother of addition, and like division, it simplifies things and cuts down on time spent equating the obvious. And let us not forget that time is always multiplying away the seconds and hours up, quickly dividing our years upon this Earth, yes, cruel sometimes is the math of life, and yet necessary, yes, so necessary, yes, yet so unavoidable, yes, quite inescapable. Devastating power moves, a simple multiplication of the simple form of brawling, is to me what multiplication is, where wrestling is concerned. Multiplying the hurt my opponent receives is often necessary. Quick and powerful suplexes, they are most efficient, for they have a word and a symbol in them, X is as algebra, yes solve for X when you can, yes, they must, yes, or they will not see, yes, yes. Four of the greatest styles of wrestling, and they flow from my brain into my hands and feet at command, ever changing, ever guessing my opponent must be, yes, they must always guess, yes, but never can they fathom my equations, yes, that is true, yes, true enough. Time grows short, I must leave soon. The end of our time draws near, just as the time of my debut draws near; subtracting away and adding up, as all things must. My wins, in my mind’s eye, will multiply quickly to title belts, won’t they, yes they will, a champion I am destined to be, yes, someday soon, yes, all too soon for those champions holding the gold and silver, yes, lovely gold and silver will decorate me, yes, and I will decorate those titles with my brilliance. Leave me now, for I have equations to finish before I move on to my next destination…
*+[1]-/ The Number stops mid way through solving yet another equation to pick up and put down the water bottle four times, before moving back to his equation. Soon enough, random math problems start dotting the screen, quickly adding up to all but obscure our vision, when one last—1+9+7+6=23—flashes and fades away, much larger than the others. +-*/[1]
