No. I can't move objects or read people minds. I don't know what exactly the doctor cured, because I couldn't do those before and I can't do the/] now. I take a book off the shelf and I see a tree. No equations.
My father has an old cart, and an old horse, too. He hasn't used either in ages. The horse just want to d}{ Maybe the cart as well.
Today I flung a couple of harnesses over its back and attached the bête to the cart. I took Audrey for a ride in the rain. Across the field. She told me a joke; I opened a bottle of beer and laughed at the joke. The cart hit a stone mid-way and flopped into a pool of mud. 'YAH'! I shouted at the animal, and he complied.
Hm...
She just kissed me now. The rain stopped this morning and she spent our outing picking flowers she likes. I decided to write down what happened these past days. I look at her and wonder wher] is everything gonna go from here. Is it just a question of wait and see...
..
H,
I don't know if she can see what I'm seeing. Two separate family of ants form circles after each footprint she leaves in the grass. Th—ey walk out of circle and form a dodecahedral. They follow her wherever she goes. She's the most beautiful thing and the ants know th]t. Th]re is the thu]]ing of t'e hart
To say it's rihht. Up th'e! We b{}th see it. The SꜫcꙪd S/un. Br//mi/ng wi'th life I Ꙏriꝳ as we//?} ꙓ Ꙙ ꜿ Ꜽ, ... ꝙ ꙋ Ꙋ, Ꙇ Ꝃꝭꝳ ꝙ... _ // , Ꚏ Ꜻ Ꙓ,
Ꙛ ꙧ Ꙫ... Ꙅ ꝴ ( _ Ⱶ ꝣ
ꝙꙋ ꝳꜿꜼ ꝙ Ꚏ Ꜻ Ꙋꝥ ꚈꝞ... ꜩꙿ Ꙥ
Ꚇ ꙧ
Ꙏ Ꚅ
Ꙑ ⱶ ,
ꙎꚄ, Ꚇ
ꙧ ⱶ Ꙑ ꙧ Ꙗ
꜡
Ꜩ
ⱸ
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Teo and Vera, my two great sources of inspiration, who've been by my side through thick and thin, and whose lives may not have been that easy while I was busy writing this book; for this I apologize and tell them I love them. Teo, I tried my best to elevate this book to the heights and elegance of your soul. To my dear friend, Daniel Sossi, for proofreading the majority of this work, and for all the great words of comfort he's shared with me all these years. His talent as an artist is also immense. To Sanziana Caraman, the great mathematician and teacher; our conversations about Cantor have found their way into this narrative. To John W. Campbell and John Carpenter whose work sparked off the premise of this book during a commute ride between Croydon and London. I hope I have injected the same amount of fun. And, last but not least, to all the great minds who found beauty and elegance in science and were ultimately left isolated because this world may not have been ready or was too much in a shambles to look the right way.