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Math - it's not my best subject.

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Math Suks

If necessity was the mother of invention
Then Id like to kill the guy who invented this
The numbers come together in some kind of third dimension
A regular algebraic bliss
Lets starts with something simple
Like 1 and 1 aint 3
Any 2 plus 2 will never get you 5
Theres fractions in my subtraction
And x dont equal y
But my homework is bound to multiply
Math suks (math suks), math suks (math suks)
Id like to burn this text book
I hate that stuff so much
Math suks (math suks), math suks (math suks)
Sometimes I think that I dont know that much
But math suks
I got so bored with my homework
I turned on the tv
The beauty pageant winners were all smiling through their teeth
And they asked the new miss america
Hey babe can you add up all those bucks
She looked puzzled then just said math suks
Math suks (math suks), math suks (math suks)
You dont even have to spell it
All you have to do is yell it
Math suks (math suks), math suks (math suks)
Sometime times I think that I dont know that much
But math suks
Geometry and trigonometry and if they dont tax your brain
There are numbers to big to be named
Numerical precision is a science with a mission
And I think its gonna drive me insane
Parents fighting with their children
And the congress cant agree
Teachers and their students are all jousting constantly
Management and labor keep rattling old sabres
Quacking like those peabody ducks
Math suks (quack quack), math suks (quack quack)
You dont even have to spell it
All you have to do is yell it
Math suks, thats right, math suks, you got it
Sometime times I think that I dont know that much
But math suks
All right there goes our g rating
Math suks, math suks, math suks the big one
Math suks, math suks, math suks the big one
Math suks, math suks, math suks the big one
Math suks, math suks, math suks, math suks

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The Subject On This Love

The subject on this love is an object,
And the object is very sound and beautiful;
The subject on this love is a valley,
And the valley is very quiet and lovely;
The subject on this love is a fruit,
And the fruit is very sound and attractive;
The subject on this love is a mountain,
And the mountain is very high and lonely;
The subject on this love is a river,
And the river is very smooth and slippery;
The subject on this love is a seed,
And the seed is very fruitful and sweet;
The subject on this love is your milk,
And your milk is very thick and sweet;
The subject on this love is your lake,
And your lake is very fresh and aromantic;
The subject on this love is a garden,
And the garden is very thick and bushy;
The subject on this love is a room,
And that room is very romantic and peaceful;
The subject on this love is your apples,
And your apples are very passinate and emotional;
The subject on this love is a tree,
And that tree is very tall and bushy;
But the peace of this subject brings is like,
Two lovers swimming across the blue sea of love and blues.

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Hitting the Mathematical Wall

(after Robert Frost)

Something there is that doesn't love the math,
That sends the frozen needles under skin,
That numbs the skull and stultifies the brain
Before the joy of math discovery begins
Comes sheer torment of quadratic functions-
And who can blame those poor souls that can't add
Two simple fractions or multiply
Signed numbers? -
For there is no reason they can't pass
Remedial math courses with a D
And join the mindless workforce
Of their peers,
Who care not for square roots or logs,
Nor volumes of some pyramids or spheres-
No, they want none of it
In their beer-filled dream,
In their dull and repetitious slumber,
Where there is no x, and no why-
No solution to their life's equation
Which drags itself each day until they die
And take this time a permanent vacation.

Something there is that doesn't love the math,
That wants all numbers and all symbols down,
And lonely is a math instructor's path-
Misunderstood and treated like a clown
By those who care not for what she says.
Gone is the beauty of geometry and space,
The golden ratio and isosceles triangles-
There is just this massive wall above her head,
Where ignorance prevails and knowledge's dead-
Where there are no more questions,
No more numbers,
There is just this nothingness,
Where there's nothing to be said,
Where all the search and all the discourse ends.


May 30,2009

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Mister Fix It

I need to be there.
And not subject myself to riddles.
Just be there,
And put to rest...
My need to split!

I...
Need,
To be there!
And not subject myself to riddles.
Or feel I'm in the middle of something misfit!

I need to be there.
And not subject myself to riddles.
Just be there,
And put to rest...
My need to split!

I...
Need,
To be there!
And not subject myself to riddles.
Or feel I'm in the middle of something misfit!

Whenever I am called to play Mister Fix-It...
I need to be there.
To give time to it.

Whenever I am called to play Mister Fix-It...
I need to be there.
To give time to it.

I've never give up on a love,
I could not keep before we split.
It seems as if we've gotten use to getting a bit!
I need to be there.

Never give up on loving it,
Once a week.
Just...
To keep it secret!

B-b-b-be there.
And not subject myself to riddles.
Just be there,
And put to rest...
My need to split!

Just be there,
Whenever I am called to play Fix-It Quick.

[...] Read more

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My favorite subject probably was math. I love math. Figures just intrigue me. I was really good at math. English probably was my worst subject. But I used to write a lot of poetry. I used to write poetry all the time.

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Schooling Relationship

you are the subject which i study
understanding and getting to know you psychologically
learning new ways to do right
ways to out do the wrong
you are the subject which i study
practicing and testing the goods and bads
you are the subject which i study
the time has come graduation is here
learn the subject by studing its psychology
understanding is the only way for success
now we move on to the next step
you are the subject which i study to major
as i take hold of your hand
guide you through rough times throughout this life
you are the subject which i study to major
as time goes by ticking away
i studied you all those days
i understand your past history life
your psychology means alot to me
mentally physically emotionally speaking
you are the subject which i study to major...

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Of Puzzles And Troubled Hearts

if only..
the problems and pains..
and trials i am in now
are math puzzles i ma so sure
more than sure enough
i hads find the values of
my variables whatever they might be
the X or the Y..i should
had gone through trials and errors
and nobody will complain
how many times will i do it
how many errors will i make
till i find the solutions
that could solve my equations and then i
would be glad..
i should had done substitution or
the process of eliminations
or the comparison and contrast
whether in differential
or integral calculus
i would not mind how many liquid erasers
i will consume nor
how many crampled papers thrown
on hungry waste bins they had
no feelings anyway, no emotions to consider
so i will not hesitates to repeat
mistakes and and tons of mistakes
till i know and contended
the solutions are best
yet i am dealing with a soul
endowed with a with
a heart that bleeds
a mind that cares
and whatever my solutions are
it will touch others lives and might
change the disposition of souls
it is too hard to retrace moments bask
when there will be agonies
because you had made something not
accepted by society and man
tand that would be bad
ah,, there is a big difference
between math problems and life dilemma
nobody got hurts in Math
and you can erase mistakes anytime
but in the game of life
one mistake you die...
and that was that
no ifs no buts..
so just be careful enough

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What Do They Think Of Poetry? ,

what do they think of poetry, ?
what do they think of poetry,
I tried to discern,
poetry is value,
They said that poetry has no diction,
Someone told me poetry is for the ladies,
I give him math and calculations,

These are the serf's of poetic value,
their criticism is all absurd,
they give limit's to it,
that they never read the deeper meaning of poetry,
They never knew it's metaphysical and deft pattern's,

math has the immutabilty,
you can never say a horse has five leg's,
but poetry is the euphoria,
the resonance,
the assonance,
the intonation,
the mutabality,
the maxim,
the troth,
just like in Crime and Punishment with character's like,
Raskolnikov,
math could not cure his indigent soul,
Only the vicissitudes and written word of empyreal value,
the contemplation,
maybe agitation of Integrated pattern's,
or maybe suffering of the soul to regain salvation.

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Subject - 731

Flickering bulbs, pass a narrowing hall
Where the conscience ape still glimmers
His breath percolates, as he's held to the bed
Straps tugging away at his femur

Fear escalates, as the wheals nimbly turn
Boldly, towards the screaming tomb
For the ape is aware: that no one returns
Exactly intact from that room

Closer and closer, the ape slowly goes
Down to the jaws of the abyss
Where brothers now lay, mementoes for worms
Indiscriminately erased

Squirming with effort, he puts up a struggle
While white coats plant him a needle
Weight grows unsteady, the light becomes vague
Chemically, enabled feeble

As he enter the doors, the ape is aware
He's now subject 731#
An expendable study, a technician spare
With equivalent rights of a sponge

Inside's a lab, baring horrendous emanations
With tools the experiment shivers
It's a Mangles' study, and Ishii's vocation
The proud medicine of butchers

Nearby is a tray; arranged instruments
Precisely, sharpened and lethal
Eyes bulge in terror, as the subject experiment
Howls to the scalpel pierced navel

Cold hands neatly brush, liquid gel to his brow
As electrodes are strapped to his temples
Lips shyly quiver, apprehension out loud
To incremental series of voltage

A lamp hits his face, obscuring the sight
While figures converge in union
One injects a syringe, near his right eye
Exploding fresh bodily torture

It burns like napalm, shredding his lungs
Into a fiery chasm
Abscess engorge, ripping cutaneous pus
Causing involuntary spasms

[...] Read more

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The Apology

ADDRESSED TO THE CRITICAL REVIEWERS.

Tristitiam et Metus.--HORACE.

Laughs not the heart when giants, big with pride,
Assume the pompous port, the martial stride;
O'er arm Herculean heave the enormous shield,
Vast as a weaver's beam the javelin wield;
With the loud voice of thundering Jove defy,
And dare to single combat--what?--A fly!
And laugh we less when giant names, which shine
Establish'd, as it were, by right divine;
Critics, whom every captive art adores,
To whom glad Science pours forth all her stores;
Who high in letter'd reputation sit,
And hold, Astraea-like, the scales of wit,
With partial rage rush forth--oh! shame to tell!--
To crush a bard just bursting from the shell?
Great are his perils in this stormy time
Who rashly ventures on a sea of rhyme:
Around vast surges roll, winds envious blow,
And jealous rocks and quicksands lurk below:
Greatly his foes he dreads, but more his friends;
He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
Look through the world--in every other trade
The same employment's cause of kindness made,
At least appearance of good will creates,
And every fool puffs off the fool he hates:
Cobblers with cobblers smoke away the night,
And in the common cause e'en players unite;
Authors alone, with more than savage rage,
Unnatural war with brother authors wage.
The pride of Nature would as soon admit
Competitors in empire as in wit;
Onward they rush, at Fame's imperious call,
And, less than greatest, would not be at all.
Smit with the love of honour,--or the pence,--
O'errun with wit, and destitute of sense,
Should any novice in the rhyming trade
With lawless pen the realms of verse invade,
Forth from the court, where sceptred sages sit,
Abused with praise, and flatter'd into wit,
Where in lethargic majesty they reign,
And what they won by dulness, still maintain,
Legions of factious authors throng at once,
Fool beckons fool, and dunce awakens dunce.
To 'Hamilton's the ready lies repair--
Ne'er was lie made which was not welcome there--
Thence, on maturer judgment's anvil wrought,
The polish'd falsehood's into public brought.

[...] Read more

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The Farewell

_P_. Farewell to Europe, and at once farewell
To all the follies which in Europe dwell;
To Eastern India now, a richer clime,
Richer, alas! in everything but rhyme,
The Muses steer their course; and, fond of change,
At large, in other worlds, desire to range;
Resolved, at least, since they the fool must play,
To do it in a different place, and way.
_F_. What whim is this, what error of the brain,
What madness worse than in the dog-star's reign?
Why into foreign countries would you roam,
Are there not knaves and fools enough at home?
If satire be thy object--and thy lays
As yet have shown no talents fit for praise--
If satire be thy object, search all round,
Nor to thy purpose can one spot be found
Like England, where, to rampant vigour grown,
Vice chokes up every virtue; where, self-sown,
The seeds of folly shoot forth rank and bold,
And every seed brings forth a hundredfold.
_P_. No more of this--though Truth, (the more our shame,
The more our guilt) though Truth perhaps may claim,
And justify her part in this, yet here,
For the first time, e'en Truth offends my ear;
Declaim from morn to night, from night to morn,
Take up the theme anew, when day's new-born,
I hear, and hate--be England what she will,
With all her faults, she is my country still.
_F_. Thy country! and what then? Is that mere word
Against the voice of Reason to be heard?
Are prejudices, deep imbibed in youth,
To counteract, and make thee hate the truth?
'Tis sure the symptom of a narrow soul
To draw its grand attachment from the whole,
And take up with a part; men, not confined
Within such paltry limits, men design'd
Their nature to exalt, where'er they go,
Wherever waves can roll, and winds can blow,
Where'er the blessed sun, placed in the sky
To watch this subject world, can dart his eye,
Are still the same, and, prejudice outgrown,
Consider every country as their own;
At one grand view they take in Nature's plan,
Not more at home in England than Japan.
_P_. My good, grave Sir of Theory, whose wit,
Grasping at shadows, ne'er caught substance yet,
'Tis mighty easy o'er a glass of wine
On vain refinements vainly to refine,
To laugh at poverty in plenty's reign,
To boast of apathy when out of pain,

[...] Read more

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Vision Of Columbus - Book 1

Long had the Sage, the first who dared to brave
The unknown dangers of the western wave,
Who taught mankind where future empires lay
In these fair confines of descending day,
With cares o'erwhelm'd, in life's distressing gloom,
Wish'd from a thankless world a peaceful tomb;
While kings and nations, envious of his name,
Enjoy'd his toils and triumph'd o'er his fame,
And gave the chief, from promised empire hurl'd,
Chains for a crown, a prison for a world.
Now night and silence held their lonely reign,
The half-orb'd moon declining to the main;
Descending clouds, o'er varying ether driven,
Obscured the stars and shut the eye from heaven;
Cold mists through opening grates the cell invade,
And deathlike terrors haunt the midnight shade;
When from a visionary, short repose,
That raised new cares and temper'd keener woes,
Columbus woke, and to the walls address'd
The deep-felt sorrows of his manly breast.

Here lies the purchase, here the wretched spoil,
Of painful years and persevering toil:
For these dread walks, this hideous haunt of pain,
I traced new regions o'er the pathless main,
Dared all the dangers of the dreary wave,
Hung o'er its clefts and topp'd the surging grave,
Saw billowy seas, in swelling mountains roll,
And bursting thunders rock the reddening pole,
Death rear his front in every dreadful form,
Gape from beneath and blacken in the storm;
Till, tost far onward to the skirts of day,
Where milder suns dispens'd a smiling ray,
Through brighter skies my happier sails descry'd
The golden banks that bound the western tide,
And gave the admiring world that bounteous shore
Their wealth to nations and to kings their power

Oh land of transport! dear, delusive coast,
To these fond, aged eyes forever lost!
No more thy gladdening vales I travel o'er,
For me thy mountains rear the head no more,
For me thy rocks no sparkling gems unfold,
Or streams luxuriant wear their paths in gold;
From realms of promised peace forever borne,
I hail dread anguish, and in secret mourn

But dangers past, fair climes explored in vain,
And foes triumphant shew but half my pain
Dissembling friends, each earlier joy who gave,

[...] Read more

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Hot Topic

Don't dropp it...
That subject that you picked.
Don't stop it...
Because there is no response,
Coming fast to arrest upon its visit?

Thoughts are sinking deeper!
That's why there is no quick lip dance.
Your words encourage minds to be enhanced.
And unexpected as that seems...
This hot topic has a meaningful theme!

Don't dropp it...
That subject that you picked.
Something profound has landed and grounded,
That's why we sit dumbfounded by it!

It is not about sex or those that are whores.
It's not about conflicts or those existing wars.
It's not about the gossip whispered all over town!
This is about humanity,
And that's why this silence has been found!

We seem to always criticize,
How someone wears their shoes.
How someone does what is done...
And whose blues they choose to further abuse..

We want to hold others accountable,
For what we elect to encounter!
Disliking everything they do that is right...
That keeps us up turning and tossing all night!

Don't dropp it...
That subject that you picked.
Don't stop it...
Because there is no response,
And answers aren't there...
At least none on tip of tongues to share.

Why does success of others' happiness,
Leaves so many to despise in despair?
This hot topic has a meaningful theme!
Why can't we support,
Instead of abort others' dreams?

Don't dropp it...
That subject that you picked.
Don't stop it...
Because there is no response,

[...] Read more

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David

My thought, on views of admiration hung,
Intently ravish'd and depriv'd of tongue,
Now darts a while on earth, a while in air,
Here mov'd with praise and mov'd with glory there;
The joys entrancing and the mute surprize
Half fix the blood, and dim the moist'ning eyes;
Pleasure and praise on one another break,
And Exclamation longs at heart to speak;
When thus my Genius, on the work design'd
Awaiting closely, guides the wand'ring mind.

If while thy thanks wou'd in thy lays be wrought,
A bright astonishment involve the thought,
If yet thy temper wou'd attempt to sing,
Another's quill shall imp thy feebler wing;
Behold the name of royal David near,
Behold his musick and his measures here,
Whose harp Devotion in a rapture strung,
And left no state of pious souls unsung.

Him to the wond'ring world but newly shewn,
Celestial poetry pronounc'd her own;
A thousand hopes, on clouds adorn'd with rays,
Bent down their little beauteous forms to gaze;
Fair-blooming Innocence with tender years,
And native Sweetness for the ravish'd ears,
Prepar'd to smile within his early song,
And brought their rivers, groves, and plains along;
Majestick Honour at the palace bred,
Enrob'd in white, embroider'd o'er with red,
Reach'd forth the scepter of her royal state,
His forehead touch'd, and bid his lays be great;
Undaunted Courage deck'd with manly charms,
With waving-azure plumes, and gilded arms,
Displaid the glories, and the toils of fight,
Demanded fame, and call'd him forth to write.
To perfect these the sacred spirit came,
By mild infusion of celestial flame,
And mov'd with dove-like candour in his breast,
And breath'd his graces over all the rest.
Ah! where the daring flights of men aspire
To match his numbers with an equal fire;
In vain they strive to make proud Babel rise,
And with an earth-born labour touch the skies.
While I the glitt'ring page resolve to view,
That will the subject of my lines renew;
The Laurel wreath, my fames imagin'd shade,
Around my beating temples fears to fade;
My fainting fancy trembles on the brink,
And David's God must help or else I sink.

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William Cowper

Adam: A Sacred Drama. Act 2.

SCENE I. -- CHORUS OF ANGELS Singing.

Now let us garlands weave
Of all the fairest flowers,
Now at this early dawn,
For new-made man, and his companion dear;
Let all with festive joy,
And with melodious song,
Of the great Architect
Applaud this noblest work,
And speak the joyous sound,
Man is the wonder both of Earth and Heaven.

FIRST Angel.

Your warbling now suspend,
You pure angelic progeny of God,
Behold the labour emulous of Heaven!
Behold the woody scene,
Decked with a thousand flowers of grace divine;
Here man resides, here ought he to enjoy
In his fair mate eternity of bliss.

SECOND Angel.

How exquisitely sweet
This rich display of flowers,
This airy wild of fragrance,
So lovely to the eye,
And to the sense so sweet.

THIRD Angel.

O the sublime Creator,
How marvellous his works, and more his power!
Such is the sacred flame
Of his celestial love,
Not able to confine it in himself,
He breathed, as fruitful sparks
From his creative breast,
The Angels, Heaven, Man, Woman, and the World.

FOURTH Angel.

Yes, mighty Lord! yes, hallowed love divine!
Who, ever in thyself completely blest,
Unconscious of a want,
Who from thyself alone, and at thy will,
Bright with beignant flames,
Without the aid of matter or of form,

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William Cowper

Table Talk

A. You told me, I remember, glory, built
On selfish principles, is shame and guilt;
The deeds that men admire as half divine,
Stark naught, because corrupt in their design.
Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears
The laurel that the very lightning spares;
Brings down the warrior’s trophy to the dust,
And eats into his bloody sword like rust.
B. I grant that, men continuing what they are,
Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war,
And never meant the rule should be applied
To him that fights with justice on his side.
Let laurels drench’d in pure Parnassian dews
Reward his memory, dear to every muse,
Who, with a courage of unshaken root,
In honour’s field advancing his firm foot,
Plants it upon the line that Justice draws,
And will prevail or perish in her cause.
‘Tis to the virtues of such men man owes
His portion in the good that Heaven bestows.
And, when recording History displays
Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days,
Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died,
Where duty placed them, at their country’s side;
The man that is not moved with what he reads,
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave,
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
But let eternal infamy pursue
The wretch to nought but his ambition true,
Who, for the sake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself station’d on a towering rock,
To see a people scatter’d like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the savage thirst a tiger feels;
Then view him self-proclaim’d in a gazette
Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet.
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced,
Those ensigns of dominion how disgraced!
The glass, that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And Death’s own scythe, would better speak his power;
Then grace the bony phantom in their stead
With the king’s shoulder-knot and gay cockade;
Clothe the twin brethren in each other’s dress,
The same their occupation and success.
A. ‘Tis your belief the world was made for man;
Kings do but reason on the self-same plan:
Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn,
Who think, or seem to think, man made for them.

[...] Read more

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I never made a career decision based solely on my desire to be an astronaut. I attended the Naval Academy because I wanted to be a Navy pilot. I majored in math because math had always come pretty easily to me and I liked it.

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Joan Cusack

You know, I loved math. My mom was a math teacher.

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I dislike math, yet I respect and appreciate the fact that math is the language of the universe.

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If you enjoy math and you write novels, it's very rare that you'll get a chance to put your math into a novel. I leapt at the chance.

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