Mathematics

What does it mean to say that the universe is made of mathematics? What is mathematics made of?

The late physicist John Wheeler says that the basis of all mathematics is 0=0.

All mathematical structures can be derived from something called ‘the empty set’, the set that contains no elements.

Say this set corresponds to zero you can then define the number 1 as the set that contains only the empty set; 2 as the set containing the sets corresponding to 0 and 1. Keep nesting the nothingness like invisible Russian dolls and eventually all of mathematics appears.

Mathematician Ian Stewart of the University of Warwick, U.K, calls this ‘the dreadful secret of mathematics: it’s all based on nothing.’

That may be the ultimate clue to existence- after all a universe made of nothing doesn’t require an explanation, indeed, mathematical structures don’t seem to require a physical origin at all.

“A dodecahedron was never created” says Max Tegmark of the Massechusetts Institute of Technology.

“To be created, something first has to exist in space or time and then exist. A dodecahedron doesn’t exist in space or time at all, he says- it exists independently of them.

‘Space and time are themselves contained within larger mathematical structures,’ he adds, these structures just exist, they can’t be created or destroyed.’

 Amanda Gefter. New Scientist September 2012. P39

The following are works in progress:

 ‘--- Does Not Exist’                                                Oil and Graphite on Linen, 2200mm x 1600mm

‘--- Does Not Exist’                                                Oil and Graphite on Linen, 2200mm x 1600mm

   
  
  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
  “I Can’t find You, But I know You’re in There.”    Oil and Graphite on Linen, 840mm x 660mm 

“I Can’t find You, But I know You’re in There.”    Oil and Graphite on Linen, 840mm x 660mm 

 “I am in there somewhere”                                    Oil and Graphite on Linen, 350mm x 280mm

“I am in there somewhere”                                    Oil and Graphite on Linen, 350mm x 280mm

 “Art Does Not exist, but I saw it somewhere.”     Oil and Graphite on Linen, 350mm x 280mm

“Art Does Not exist, but I saw it somewhere.”     Oil and Graphite on Linen, 350mm x 280mm

Body of Photographs

 “What the prisoners see and hear are shadows and echoes cast by objects that they do not see…

“What the prisoners see and hear are shadows and echoes cast by objects that they do not see…

  And if they could talk to one another, don’t you think they’d suppose that the names they used applied to the things they see passing before them ?”  Plato

And if they could talk to one another, don’t you think they’d suppose that the names they used applied to the things they see passing before them?”

Plato

2015 National Contemporary Art Award

What a great night down in Hamilton at the awards.

Here's a view of my work, 'I Found these Damn Words'.....

A great show all round!

I Found These Damn Words.

The truth of the matter
Is never black and white.
Muttered shades of oxygen
Lie suspended
In particles of light.

This relic dropped
From under a clouded sky
Into a silvered landscape
Wherein my darkened
Imagination lies.

A promissory note
Scrawled in sacrosanct
Black and white
Written by person
Or persons unknown
And trespassed against
In the deep dark of the night.

These damn words
Once lost, now found
Corner a future
In words writ profound.

“A sign of the things to come,
Coming soon.”
A prayer for lovers
Of the after-die.
The hopeful
Earthbound howlers
Bellowing at a satellite moon.

Delia

 

 

 

 

 

In The Light Of This

On a day that
Dark matters, mattered.
I finished painting the universe.

The cloud seeders with
Bone, skin, feathers, teeth,
Tongues and eyes.
Manifestations of matter,
Are stretched across
An infinite
Horizontal plane.

But their welcoming party
Will arrive from nowhere.

Because a man in a wheelchair
Has flattened
The Copernican centre,
With his projection
Of a holographic vision.
Escher tessellations
That frustrate
With their hint of infinity
At the edges.

We had credited a depth of field
For our certainty of reality
Instead it is a dark matter
That forms
The shadows between us.

Our seeding sculptures
Folded within the fabric
Of it’s invisible cloak

Our rottenness dissolving
On the nap of the black velvet
That skins every molecule
Of our not so solid flesh.

Our electrons entombed in
The dark spaces of
Neighbourly isolation
Deep within the suburbs
Of our atomic cores.

In the light of this,
I see my thoughts
As they appear on
A flat surface,
In front of me.

In the quiet of this,
I hear the sounds
Of anger
Raging in my head

Now in the dark of this,
I dream of bodies
Asleep in dank squalor,
And walk away from them.

And ahead of me?
I paint the universe.
Floating indigo
Actualized by time.

The cloud seeders with
Their atomized matter
Now spread silent
In my hermetic room.

Their welcoming party
Will arrive from nowhere.

Because there is nowhere
To arrive from.

 

Painting in the Multiverse

I had an idea:

That I would paint an image of the universe based on a paradox posed by Stephen Hawkings.

It has taken three years to finish the painting, which in so many ways remains, a flat plane thinly layered with oil.

I have decided to leave it hanging and have instead, in so many words, chosen to describe it.

Hawking’s paradox was derived from his discovery that black holes slowly radiate their mass away and, as he had also proven that the radiation carries no information, a question was raised about what happens to the information that described the original star?

This paradox disturbed one of the major tenets of physics; that information in the universe cannot be destroyed. Or to put it another way, matter that escaped its infinite compression at the singularity of the big bang, cannot be removed from the universe. It is contained within the universe.

Hawking’s paradox was solved in 1972 by Jacob Berkenstein and by later string theorists, “who showed how the original star’s information could be encoded in tiny lumps and bumps on the event horizon, which would then imprint it on the Hawking radiation departing the black hole.”    

Physicists Leonard Susskind and Gerard’t Hooft took this a step further speculating that if a three dimensional star could be encoded on a black hole’s horizon, then could it be possible that the same is true at the event horizon of the universe?

The question became, could this 2D surface, 42 billion light years away, encode the entire 3D universe that we experience and, therefore, is it possible that the life we experience is a holographic projection from this 2D surface?

They visualised this holographic universe by suggesting we picture ourselves appearing as characters in a 3D movie. The closer we move backwards towards the flat screen of the universe, the bigger pixels that make up our image, become smaller, denser, grainier, and pixelated.   At this stage, such an idea is only a hypothesis, however evidence to support it is being seriously pursued through experiments, conducted on an instrument, currently under construction in Germany.

These matters piqued my interest, as the idea of our lives being a projection from a flat surface, is a construction that, as a painter, I have to contemplate while painting. My craft exists as a 2D world trying to capture sculpted forms onto its flat plane. There seemed a correlation and a possibility that the flat painting could pose like a miniscule fractal or maquette of the macro.

That perhaps I could construct a painting as a visual metaphor for the idea Susskind and Hooft had proposed and so I commenced this work:

“Because a man in a wheelchair
Has flattened the Copernican centre,
With his projection
Of a holographic vision.
Escher tessellations
That frustrate with their
Hint of infinity at the edges.”

Philosophically this paradox has enormous consequences as it has led to physicists predicting that in a few years we may need to make an astonishing adjustment to the perception of ourselves existing as solid bodies surrounded and defined by the cast shadows of other defined solid bodies.
 
The certainty of our belief that we are 3d objects in a 3d universe could potentially be shattered with the same force that shocked the population of 1543. They had to digest the unthinkable idea of Copernicus’s revolutionary heliocentrism, which was evidentially proven by Galileo in 1615, thus confirming the truth of the earth’s demoted position in the universe.

‘A positive result (from experiments testing the hypothesis) would challenge every assumption we have about the world we live in. It would show that everything is a projection of something occurring on a flat surface billions of light years away from where we perceive ourselves to be. As yet we have no idea what that “something” might be, or how it could manifest itself as a world in which we do the school run or catch a movie at the cinema.”

I began the preparation of applying layers of gesso onto a 2 metre wide canvas, which was the largest I could fit on my studio wall.

I had to work with the idea that the edges of my flat canvas invoked their own impression of unbounded space within my bounded space.

The first marks of diluted indigo oil paint were brushed on in gestural sweeps that began and ended within 10cms of the boundary and were separated form each other by a small gap between each long form.

Seven of these independent areas made their way across the canvas, the two on either end, interrupted by the edge of the canvas and it’s implications that this is just a snapshot, or a frame-contained part of a larger whole that we cannot see in its entirety.

I meticulously began to fill in-between every gap left by the dribbly nature of the turps-diluted paint, inside each of the forms.

The texture was reminiscent of painting dark pores between tiny, fissures or cracks in skin.

I was painting up close in a tight space using my time over a year to fill every pore with the dark indigo.

“Fine cicatrices within
The deepest dark.
The unseeable lair
Of the dark urges
Stirring at last
In the demi-urge.”


My next layer was to animate these forms that were moving across my static base of canvas.

I chose to slightly anthropomorphise them, with bones, skin, feathers, teeth, tongues and eyes.

I supposed our mammalian vanity would be more attracted to forms that hinted at our own path through time.

The underlying forms were nebulous and cloud-like so I named them the cloud seeders, and regarded them as the seeders of matter that had been released and then expanded outwards from the initial singularity, the moment that had projected their gaseous birth.

And they in turn would on this canvas, lie behind, as a memory, or trace of the matter that has expanded ever outward.

The visible particles coalescing into forms that were always inherent in the structure of their molecules. These forms that begin to become recognisable as parts of beings, as we the viewer look back to a past, from a future that is far forward from this historic moment.

“Anonymous bodies
Build to fractal shapes
Having escaped the black ink
That infinitely,
Instantaneously
Had always written
The equations
For their future form.”

Between the forms I again painted pure indigo to represent the deepest dark of the darkest matter that fills our space invisibly but actually.

Then I added sepia to acknowledge that time had been birthed at the same instance as the space our matter inhabits, before I started to fracture the surface with bright white, straight and curved lines of geometry.

I puzzled over whether to incorporate the elements of indigo, sepia and white all on an equal layer, but chose in the end to fuse the indigo and the sepia and layer the geometry on top, as physicists are still unclear about the universe’s relationship with mathematics.

The question is whether maths exists within the universe as an inherent law, an absolute quality that was birthed within matter, or is it a language that we have uniquely developed in order to give some transparency to the opaque black beyond our horizon of light.

We should be amazed that we can read the encoded language of the universe through mathematics, a structural language that evolved with us.  Evolutionary biologists have discovered that we inherited the use of forms of counting from our deepest mammalian history and as our equations and algorithms advance in complexity, we are able to penetrate the impenetrable history of our beginnings.

We use these numbers like a telescopic lens that interprets code, which we then point outwards to peer beyond our boundary. With such a device we can replace our blind glare into the darkness, with an image our minds can understand.


“As did the once
Trawling trilobites
Who adjusted quartz lenses
To peer
At the forms of shadows.

Pioneering sightings of
Invisibility.
Within what had only ever been
An encasing; inky
Blinding, blackness.

Pioneer hunters of the
Newly naked visibility
“eppur si muove”
They riposte
To detractors of marvels.”

Images by their nature are full of complex dense information. Pages and pages of code can be condensed into an image that then links to other images building to more comprehensive whole views.

I am interested in the code of images, so I return to the next layer of the painting that is now cracked by the geometry that describes the space and builds the forms, with time seeping its way alongside and in-between.

“Time organic sleeps in space laid straight
 With sepia seeping
Through its geometric cracks”   

We acknowledge time by our existence, it is organic because we are organic, the ticks and tocks we measure our passing time with, are relevant only to us.

“We head towards our imminent
Heat death
Our molecules scattering
Like dispersed dye.
With a realization
That we never owned time.
We owned a watch.
Over our time.
12 numbers written on the
The infinite face of Pi.”

All other matter expands, exists within time parameters peculiar to its own matter.

The clock we have invented is a language of description peculiar to us, but we can use it to describe the life cycle of the universe and all the information contained within it and to describe the life cycle of all that we have shared our journey through the universe with, in relation to our human experience of time.


“The new Vitruvian man
 Knows he floats
In an infinite circle.
His extremities racked
By the pull of its endless edge
Amidst a finite blackness
That contains his matter.”

The next aspect of the painting, is the darkest indigo, representing the opposite of matter. Anti-matter, dark matter, the darkest art of the universe. This is a huge part of our universe and yet we can’t describe it, or visualise it, we have no knowledge yet of what antimatter can possibly have as its structure. This is information we can’t penetrate or make visible with our current technology or the enormous machine driven experiments that seek it out.

At this time, the opposite of matter, remains an unknowable void that lurks outside our consciousness.

“Our own black-mirrored lens
Hungers to see
The treacle sticking
Darkest matter
That coats our skin
As we wade through
An atmosphere we
Only half know”

Every molecule of the universe is coated by this mystery and every particle of us is independently coated by this mystery. With this thought alone our assurance that we are solid 3D impenetrable forms is compromised and starts to hint at spaces between the smallest particles of our fleshy matter.

“We had credited a depth of field
For our certainty of reality
But it is a dark matter that forms
The shadows between us.

Our seeding sculptures
Folded within the fabric
Of it’s invisible cloak

Our rottenness dissolving
On the nap of the black velvet
That skins every molecule
Of our not so solid flesh.”

At this point my interest was for the painting to retain a feeling of flattened horizontal space. To achieve this I gave the dark indigo an equal yet unnoticeable presence.

“Its own infinity
Doesn’t allow it to exist
As anything more
Than a future guardian
Of gaseous birth
And mineral hardness
 
Of the leeringly,
Perhaps lovingly,
Leeching matter that
Evolved to be prayed for
And preyed upon.”
 

The difficulty of representing the idea of a holographic space needed to be addressed and I wanted something very simple rather than a highly developed perspectival trick as I felt this would have dominated the underlying horizontal flatness.

I chose to use simple straight white lines radiating from the central point, and to the ends of these I hooked small images taken from Palaeolithic cave drawings.

These lines project from a single point to create an impression of a moment that exists behind the vaporous cloud seeders. They push the forms out towards the uppermost surface of the painting, and then hang them there in space, as representations of our first identifiable marks and the beginnings of our self awareness. These marks of representation are our initial audible shout aimed forward into a future. Their placement hidden deep in caves implies a certainty of belief that these images will remain to be seen after they themselves, have gone.

Then I buried our recognisably modern skeletons along the curved lines of geometry, laying them gently in slackened poses to rest as reminders of our finite existence amongst this immense infinity.

And lastly, I wrote my words as the final layer.  Symbolic of our vainglorious disbelief, the voices and language and tomes we entrust as proof of our contemporary existence, may not have a future in the vast time scape, in which we occupy such a minute fraction.

The fate of our language in the eons of impenetrable future time, is an untranslatable inaudible static that certainly hints at a history, but one that is indefinable amidst the clouded, grainy pixilation of the futures expanded matter.   
 
What I am left with, three years later, is in itself, just a canvas 2 metres wide.

It is brushed with shades of blue, brown and white oil paint.

A shiny, varnished, painted poem, hung on a nail, and spread silent, in my hermetic room.

Sometimes I look at it and think it is beautiful.

Oh well, it was only an idea.

 

Hanging Garden of Detachment

I Had An Idea:

For a work titled “Hanging Garden Of Detachment”
 
Consisting of small porcelain heads hanging from their twisted hair from the ceiling of a room.

I imagine 31 of them floating within a space, their bisque fired locks twisting around a rope that continues up through their absent spinal column, through the top of their head to the ceiling.

Below their necks would sway beautiful tassels.

Between the heads would be small pencil drawings of similar heads swaying and fluttering in their material lightness.

The unglazed heads would have their senses closed to the outside world.
 
Eyes shut, tongues quieted, ears blocked or folded, brows furrowed, or raised, nostrils pinched in an indrawn breath.

They would hang in silence, move in unison, defy gravity, and swing to a breath of air that circulates between them.

However the truth of their detachment, will be negated by the unlidded eyeballs teetering on scalps, eyes protruding from ears, eyes hanging from tongues, eyes shut but with eyeballs open in places they shouldn’t be.

This is a garden of cold stone heads, heavy in their material, light in their attachment.
 
The tassels flirt with us, seducing us with their silky beauty, swishing as we pass them by, these dresses of cold stone heads missing their cold stone hearts.

I may play them a song in the background, or recite a poem to keep them company, just to fill the air with voices they can fold their ears against.

Swishing, swaying, swinging, singing.


Let them hang those cold Theologians.


Oh well it was only an idea.

 

Violent Fibonacci Sequence

What Happened?
One figure stabs another figure.
What were we told?
One figure turns the other cheek.
What do we do?
One figure stabs the other in the back
What happens next?
Two figures return to stab the assailant.
What happens then?
Three figures return to assail those two.
Then what happens?
Four figures return with bigger weapons
To kill the three.
Which leads to?
Many more figures arming themselves
To kill the four
And then?
Vengeance is called
Against the many
For the killing of the four.
Which leads to?

The many being assailed by even more,
The violent math breeds to civil war.
And so on,
And so on,
One plus one minus one
And so on.
Ad infinitum…

 

New Scientist...

“What does it mean to say that the universe is ‘made of mathematics’? An obvious starting point is to ask what mathematics is made of. The late physicist John Wheeler said that ‘the basis of all mathematics is 0=0’. All mathematical structures can be derived from something called “the empty set”, the set that contains no elements. Say this set corresponds to zero; you can then define the number 1 as the set that contains only the empty set. 2 as the set that contains the sets corresponding to 0 and 1, and so on.

Keep nesting the nothingness like invisible Russian dolls and eventually all of mathematics appears.

Mathematician Ian Stewart of the university of Warwick UK, calls this, ‘The dreadful secret of mathematics: it’s all based on nothing.’
 
Reality may come down to mathematics, but mathematics comes down to nothing at all.

That may be the ultimate clue to existence-after all, a universe made of nothing doesn’t require any explanation.”

 

The Impossibility of Making Nothing

I Had An Idea:

To make something about: ‘The impossibility of making nothing’ because:

“One of the attractions of this idea is that it can supply an answer to the question” Why is there something rather than nothing?”

We build our ‘Something’ and view its wholeness, its 3d-ness, as a stand-alone object surrounded by ‘Nothing’. And when we swish our hands through the air we feel ‘nothing’ and so assume its non-existence.

In the sub atomic world the state of ‘nothing’ quickly becomes one of ‘something’, yet ‘nothing’ is in itself not considered to exist as an entity.
 
This is not surprising when we surmise what possibly occurred at the moment preceding the big bang, in that unknowable moment when the infinite compression of matter and antimatter, of something and nothing, must have been an infinitely undefended and defended, unwaged and waged, battle for supremacy.

But something must have mattered just that impossibly small amount more than nothing and the universe of matter surged into what we know as existence.

“The randomness inherent in quantum mechanics means that quantum information-and by extension, a universe-can spontaneously come into being.”


Can it be possible that a state of nothing does not actually exist?

Is it a state that matter vanquished at the singularity of the big bang that caused space, time, something, nothing, matter and anti matter to expand in an endless co-existence?

And so causes the small particle of matter that is something, to instantly reappear within what appears to be ‘nothing’, to claim its space in perpetuity, reminding us of matters ‘more’ than the ‘less’ of ‘no matter’.
 
Or are they equal foes fighting for dominance, with matter only the temporary vanquisher of nothing?

I have chosen to investigate this idea of the impossibility of nothing, through a common human experience that occurs within the boundaries of our own minds, prior to the making of any physically manifested object.

This is the change in our cognition between describing feeling ‘nothing’, ie, a neutral state that has no description and the fast escalation of a feeling that we acknowledge as a ‘something’.

These two uncertain states no doubt arise from our physical being but have the qualities of mathematical objects in the way they appear in our minds, structured but formless, known but not seen and only recognised by their reflection in the objects in front of us.
 
“’Indeed mathematical structures, don’t seem to require a physical origin at all. A dodecahedron was never created’, says Max Tegmark of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. ‘To be created something first has to not exist in space or time and then exist.’  A dodecahedron doesn’t exist in space or time at all he says-it exists independently of them. ‘Space and time are themselves contained within larger mathematical structures’, he adds. These structures just exist, they can’t be created or destroyed.”  

The dualities within the dualities of love and no love, anger and no anger are the pressing forces that have driven our particular particles to produce words and music and visual arts throughout the eons of human intelligence and so are suitable benign states to put into an observational vacuum.

“Something may be the more natural state than nothingness. A vacuum of nothingness quickly fills with positive and negative quarks.”

Within our beings when we encounter another who causes us to feel, we can experience a sensation of transferring from our neutral state of ‘being’ (if the non-ego is feeling ‘nothing’) and our state can be radically altered to a feeling of ‘something’.

This comes about through the activation of our ego, grappling with the idea of an external something (often in the guise of ‘someone’).
 
We can rapidly escalate within the amorphous non- locatable area, where we internally keep our sense of ‘self’ to the generation of a feeling of ‘Something’.

The positive quark has been agitated in its vacuum.

I wonder whether ‘nothing ’had been happy with its previous non- existence before being aggravated to co-exist with a something…

And I wonder is it love or is it anger that is the catalyst for the change to this ‘somethingness’ that would no longer allow ‘nothingness’ to exist contentedly in its state of non-ego?

Creationists describe the world as being created by God’s love, not anger.

We know love as languid, egoless, dual not singular.

Nothing and something could coexist in a state of love.

So how could love have the energy to fight for itself and to rise above its contented co-existence and become the dominant, ‘something’?

It is when love splits from its reflection, when love is riled, that it recreates itself through the passionate, energetic force of anger, into tumultuous, roiling, abrupt, and decisive action.

It becomes a singular spitting spasm, ejected outwards.

The poet Baudelaire maintained, that the true pleasure of love was:

“The certainty of doing evil”. Something that “both men and women know, from birth, that nowhere but in evil do they find gratification.”  

Or in the words of Nick Cave:
 
“People they just ain’t no good.”

Perhaps matter evolved love for its own purposes. Matter arrived with what we have worded as ‘mathematics’ encoded within its particular particle.

The mathematical sequence of splitting and reforming into two groups and then from two to four, and so on is inherent in our cell division and in our growth.

We are an encoded mathematical sequence.

When far flung groups of cells bump into others they form a new cluster and then again.

The cooperation of these clusters to group could be called ‘love’, they seem to recognize something in each other and there is mutual advantage to the compounding.

In the computer game ‘The Game Of Life”, there is a type of ‘recognition’ between number groups that makes them inclined to reform into new shapes, in many respects the code breeds new hybrid shapes, but at a later stage of regrouping, a specific shape begins to aggressively dominate and subsume smaller groups of the forms still in the developing stage.

Perhaps love encoded in the math is at this point, lost.

 

 

Rage, Rage Against the Dying of the Light

Anger seems to me the more plausible provoker of action as it can erupt so abruptly from a state of nothing, of non-existence, into a something that physically exists.

Anger storms from the self. It forms into a concentrated, energetic, spewing of utterances, blasting outwards in a concentrated stream.

Anger hones our concentration, it gives an unprecedented clarity, all artifice is stripped away, all is raw, simple, the solution exists in one action.

Suppression is impossible and explosion imminent. It is the raging birth of a new moment in time.

If we extrapolate from the micro to the macro, it seems plausible that the universe would have been birthed in anger. From a battle-head between matter and anti matter that did not exist but could only possibly, probably have.

Again we can only surmise that in one instance, matter dominated, exploded, banged its way out of stasis and began its time of existence.

There is no going back, it cannot un-exist now that it has become the universe of contained matter.

The matter surged forward, out toward a 360 degree, beyond-ness.  A punched through beginning to which, perhaps, we can draw a longitudinal line, now that it has begun.

But this line could never have been pinpointed before this moment and place, of time and space, because the fight itself rolled around a fuzzy curve of nothingness and never-to–be-ness.
 
There was no space for the dispute to rage in, the collision of the opposing forces was, an un-witness-able fight between something and nothing.

But the matter of something’s anger had more force it raged it blew apart, it became, itself.

If we return to the micro, we know this of ourselves.
For example countless young devotees of many different denominations, berate themselves for their perceived failures to control their tempers, thoughts, and impetuous and regrettable actions.

They believe themselves to be fundamentally good, yet the guilt they experience betrays them. There is evidence of a suppression of an internalized universal nature, which they view like a seam of evil, because it threatens to erupt its way to the surface of their lives.

They betray an irritation at an elemental self that is fighting its way to acknowledgement as an imperative aid in the success of the singular survival of its host body.  

We inherently know that at times, our arête of effectiveness requires truthfulness and deceptiveness to work in partnership. But we deny this, battling truth and untruth through the force of our minds, trying to subsume and deny existence to a force that is ingrained within our materiality.

It is as though the imperceptible piece of original matter that abruptly forced it’s own birth in the universe, is re-birthed anew within each living skeletal and non-skeletal being, irritating and itching in every roiling, boiling piece of matter that builds from force deep in the ground, into mountains that are then shaken away by the clash of plates or washed away by tributaries that have been eroding the hardness, for their own enlargement of fluid territory.

Love is lost deep in the compressing strata in which seams form and bodies liquefy to oil.
 
This immense pressure and force is locked inside elements squeezed far into rocks fusing atoms that steal each others protons until one subsumes the other and progresses as a new compound.
 
And so on and so on, ad infinitum.

In my universe, I created a book from the ‘something’ of anger. I let the positive and negative quarks appear and disappear, exist and not exist within my vacuum.

But at some point of time, the force of something became greater than the nothing that hadn’t been, and it’s existence had to be acknowledged, so in the light of 31 days, I leeched it out through my hand, birthed it onto paper and let the matter expand.

It exists, because I exist.

It is something, because I am something.

In a way it is about nothing, but it is not nothing.

It cannot be returned to its state of non-existence, as it has been actualized into matter, and all matter remains contained within the universe.

All matter, expands and forms and reforms on its journey through time.

This book of lines is fundamentally an object, but not a fundamental object.

It is fundamentally about an idea, but may or may not be a fundamental idea.

It was created as an answer to a distorted reality, one that reflected and refracted the world so that;
 
“What looked big from one perspective, looked small from another, high energy could look like low energy, 11 dimensions, like 10, particles like strings and strings like membranes.”

A string puller tugged at my membrane and an idea became an object.
Something came out of nothing.
My version of reality was fundamentally affected by an idea that I converted into particles.

Something from nothing now exists because ‘nothing’ could not exist.


Oh well it was only an idea.