The Mathematician
Matthew Ryan Fischer
He did the numbers and then he ran them again. Because he was obsessive.
Equations and theorems, symbolic reasoning both past and present. Over and over
to see if he could prove the impossible and make the theoretical real. He
sometimes referred to it as PyschoMath, only half joking, only half aware he
was making some sort of reference to some theory from long ago. Once people
were obsessed with a perfect ratio, and thought there was an answer within.
Others believed in the helix or the hexagon, as proof of order, or proof of a simulation.
Someone went insane thinking they could find God within the number Pi. The mathematician
didn’t bother with such theories. He had long ago given up on proving other
people’s dreams. He wanted to know if life, the universe and everything could
be added up into one equation and within find meaning and answers and control.
If it was a simulation, then there would be a numerical code. If it was
intelligent design, the same idea should apply. Hashing out a string of zeros
and ones could explain anything. Enough chaos, enough repetition, and any order
could be stumbled upon by accident. There were too many variables. He could tie
things together, but it hardly made sense. But he kept on counting. Kept on
adding. Kept on trying and dreaming and going down the rabbit hole.
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