For H.D.

At tea with the Mad Hatter, I’m showing him my new painting, Infinity-A-1. “Alice, my dear, you can’t count worth shit,” he tells me. “That’s true,” I concur, and then say, “but I can interpret. Infinity is what it is. Boundless.” The Mad Hatter is thinking about it. He enters in character and says, “yes.” “So, you understand, then?” I ask. “Yes.” My faith is strong but I need more proof. So I ask him again. “What do you understand?” “That infinity is the greater love,” he says. “Good answer,” I say, but then I insist. “If I told you, ‘If I stood on my head for you, what then?” “I would still love you,” he says. “Good answer,” I say again. “If I come or if I go, what then?" “I would still love you,” he says. “If I did nothing and everything at once, what then?” “I would still love you,” he says. The March Hare intervenes: “you 2 are incurable. There is 1 too many ifs in this string of topsy turvys, lovy doveys, and still bills. You both need a seminar in number theory that goes all the way. I’ll teach it, if you want it, and if you don’t, I won’t.” We switch places on the table. 6 riddles fall on the plates. 3 for us and 3 for them. They all sound the same: “What do infinity and form have in common?”

The Mad Hatter: “that we want them only thus.”
The March Hare: “that they are uncountable.”
The Knave of Hearts: “that they are both mature.”
The Queen of Hearts: “that they both murder time.”
The October Einstein: “that they are both relatively relative.”
Alice in Wonderland: “that we remember doing neither.”



lektor said…
sorry for disagreeing with the october einstein, but nothing is relatively relative. especially when we're talking about the infinity of form or the form of infinity.

on the contrary, everything is crystal clear. at least for me.

A! curious to hear a couple of rigorous definitions? Filthy, dirty true, but rigorous?

Næææh, I won't tell them that easy. Not without a big blackboard and lots of chalk at my disposal.

Because a true devil appears to be SO black mostly because he's seen through the white dust he spreads.
Camelia said…
We want to hear nothing but rigurous definitions. All delivered on a smooth surface, no depth here. And hold the dust. We want heat, the form of thought in flow.

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