I come across a song that brings me to memory things very old, almost indistinct.
And, as always, the music helps me.
As one strives to do well and minimize the unexpected, there's always something wrong .
There was a stage in my life when I gave all the blame myself, not so much for the privilege of being able to look my faults, but for the constant pressure of the views of important figures in my life, all in one direction: if people / events A, B, C and D (which does not relate to each other) cross with you and things go wrong, the constant becomes you, and then up to you to change.
I was taught, and it's true that feelings do not exist: i sentimenti sono le persone.
Era chiaro, a quel punto, che andava tutto ridiscusso. Era amore quello per la diciottenne Grobula? Era vera amicizia con il tuo vecchio amico Marruzio? Esisteva davvero quella amicizia amorosa con Nellèa? Avevano un qualche fondamento le confortanti parole di Pryno?
Uuuuhh. Aaeeeaaah. No.
Frutto di incroci casuali tra persone che attraversano fasi estremamente variabili della propria vita, questi rapporti erano basati su sentimenti inesistenti in sé.
Se 4 e 3 si sommano producono il 7. Ma il 7 può essere il risultato di infinite altre tele matematiche, e magari questo 7 ha anche un suo significato di per sé; uno potrebbe voler tendere a quel 7 ad ogni costo, e procedere trial and error, putting the canvas in the complex mathematical formulas and improbable, even to get to that 7.
Ah, if the feelings were governed by scientific laws of the universe would be easy: just look at Wikipedia or on Elitist Jerks as a set of properties is necessary for A, B, C and D can even be combined with you and produce at last a 7.
If it is not yet clear, this is the story of your ex boyfriend / partner who has spent 7 years with you to do Bird Watching and then she left and soon the place as a teller at the Banco Ambrosiano.
's the story of one with whom you have been the last year of high school and, in many other years, the thing he loved More was to stay at home, tucked under a blanket, with mom and dad in the living room but did not disturb anything, and say no to friends who go to dance tonight because we rented a VHS from Blockbuster and I promised that I would have watched Titanic for the first time with her.
Except then you leave and find her, now twenty-seven, dressed in slutty dancing on the cube. On Saturdays and Wednesdays.
It is also the history of almost thirty-progressive, enterprising and emancipated that seduces you into any working day, haunts you, you diminish and excites you at the same time. A woman truly unconventional. The same switch you see, a few months after you have left to fuck and damn-the-day-that-we-are-known , on pedestrian crossings while you're stopped at red, walking slowly pushing a baby carriage, slow and tired from his big belly. E 'pregnant again and this time they are two adorable twins. (NDR: pheeewwwww)
Hey, but that there is not your ex-boyfriend, Evulgendzo? But it was left for Madagascar with an NGO? He was not supposed to be like racing to vaccinate thousands of African children to save them from Freeview? Come on, it was not what you had left at the end because you could not keep up a relationship at a distance? Here, I said that it was him!
So sorry, what the hell makes us sitting quel tavolo con quella specie di transessuale e quel gruppo di malavitosi, a parte tirarsi tutta la cocaina che sta sul suddetto tavolo?
Ecco una possibile soluzione, che ci è gentilmente offerta proprio dalla matematica. La semplificazione .
Quando un calcolo è troppo complesso, si associano elementi che si annullano a vicenda, e si semplificano i passaggi che ci condurranno a X. E più si va avanti, meno variabili restano, fin quando un giorno riesci a scrivere E=mc2 (sarebbe "al quadrato" ma non trovo il simboletto del cazzo).
Il problema è che devi sapere quanto vali tu in questa cazzo di equazione. La cosa più probabile è che, tirando le sum of all these simplifications, you end up attributing to yourself 90% of the total value, and leave the rest to others. If the goal is 7 and you rate (even if unwittingly) 6.3 is pretty obvious what the consequence.
If I think the days of long hair, workout 3 times a week, jeans and white T-shirt in disco, the avalanche swept, social life, courting refined, four-valve machine, 's to live alone, letters, intercom surprise ... I no longer see a wonderful period of youth who run away, I see many saved from peril.
And I do not seem to see an enterprising young man, attivo, scaltro ed affascinante. Vedo uno che aveva il culto di se stesso , quelli che oggi chiameremmo metrosexuales .
Nonostante tutto, c'è ancora, c'è sempre qualcosa di sbagliato.
Il punto è che la matematica altro non è che un sistema dell'uomo per comprendere, spiegare e manipolare la realtà. La struttura teorica che ci permette di esprimere concetti apparentemente ovvii (come il numero 7, somma, sottrazione, variabile, risultato ecc.) in natura di per sé non esiste .
Non c'è un posto dove vai e trovi la matematica lì, ferma al sole a far niente. Non c'è un reparto per la Matematica allo Zoo per esempio. La vedi in azione tutto the time, everywhere, in all things that exist in the universe because it is the Universe itself.
But all that is said of mathematics is created by man.
imagine how we are combined with the love, friendship, free will and the whole long series of imaginary constructs of the man we have many fewer examples of objective, and most of them are absolute shit.
Universe of feelings we are the Earth, the Moon is always there and is the quid we need to overcome gravity. But the rest of the atmosphere is completely saturated with small cylindrical bodies orbiting rapidly leaving behind a long trail of brownish debris.
assholes are the astral with you to do every day.
