All I have today is a revision of my last mathemaku:
The title of the piece is “Mathemaku in Honor of Andrea Bianco’s 1436 Map of the World.” I changed the previous quotient from “music” to a picture of a lute. My reasoning was that “music” was too general; I wanted something that said “medieval.” I’m satisfied with it now.
I’m a bit shocked to see how long it’s been since my last entry here. I thought it’d only been four or five days. I’m going to try to post more often now, maybe not daily but at least three or four times a week. The past three days I’ve woken up feeling good. I’ve been more productive though not as productive as I’d like to be. Still, I’m out of the null zone I was in.
Part of the reason for that is that my bad leg (due apparently to sciatica) is better, although I still can’t run on it to any extent. I’m optimistic that it will fully come around if I give it time and don’t play tennis again till I’m sure it’s okay. Three times I played when it seemed okay but not right, and each time suffered during the next few days.
The pain pills I’m taking for the problem are probably (alas) the main reason I’m feeling so good psychologically. Also contributing it the fact that I’m winning the game of Civilization I’m playing in! I’ve never won it at the level I’m now playing it at. This shouldn’t mean anything but it means a ridiculously lot! Winning just about any kind of competition really zings me!
That’s it for now. Hope to be back tomorrow. Will definitely be back before the week ends.
Oops, you may need a magnifying glass. My choice of reproduction seems to be the size above, or four times as large. Anyway, it’s called “A Man’s Intelligence” and may be more informrature–a specimen of informratry–than poetry. Let me quote what it says: “A man’s Intelligence” equals “intelligence Quotient” divided by the product of “The measurable level of Dionysian blood transfused in a saffron masseuse boasting whispers through the cool crystal shot glass of the finest golden tequila” times “The amount of passion fueled by a young pink Venus–her hand wandering in slow circular patterns, a seemingly aimless whistle up the man’s inner thigh.”
As I announced when I first posted this, I am hoping to publish an antho- logy of mathematical poems, like this one, so if you have one or know of one, send me a copy of it, or tell me about it.
