As I Look to the Sky...

Dan Jira - 8/28/2016

As I look up to the sky to the South,

I can see the rapid flashes in the clouds,

The threat of a storm that will never arrive.

As I look up to the sky to the North,

I can see the stars peeking down from the cosmos,

The threat of dreams that will be left unseen.

As I look up to the sky to the West,

I can see the fading sunset,

The threat of days yet to come.

As I look up to the sky to the East,

I can see the lights of the city,

The threat of the coming morning stifling the inhabitants.

But when i look down and immediately to my left,

Even in the dark, I can see your freckled nose,

And the threat of words left unsaid.

Some More Numbers

So I was playing a game the other night, and in this game, there was a mechanic where you could sell things, in groups of 1, 2, 5, or 10. And well, this got me thinking. And after a while, I got distracted and completely forgot about what I was thinking about. However, when I went to bed that night, and as I was laying there, I remembered, and thought about it some more. This is what I came up with.

5 is actually an even number. Not in the mathematical sense of even numbers, no, in that way it is most definitely an odd number. However, in the sense of perception, I perceive 5 to be an even number. (My logic for this is not sound in any terms, however, everyone I have conferred with about this has tended to agree.) When you look at an even number, they look smooth, and just pleasant to look at. When you look at an odd number, you see them as brash, with corners and hard edges whereas even number do not have these visual characteristics. Sure, my whole argument may be based on the aesthetics of the numbers themselves, but I do believe that it is a valid point. (And no, I am not going to argue that an upside-down 5 is a 2.) 

Because of this, I have a proposition. Instead of changing the classification of 5 from an odd to an even number, because it does not work in terms of mathematics, I humbly suggest that we classify it as we do the letter "y." The letter "y" has a constant identity crisis and does not know whether or not it is a vowel or a consonant. Because of this, and phonetics, it can be both because it has properties of both. Just like the 5 has the mathematical properties of being an odd number, but the aesthetic property of the even numbers.

Numbers

Previously, I have written a poem about the thoughts that keep me awake at night. It is the poem titled "Deafened." In this poem, I briefly describe some of the loudest things of a particular day, and how they are all brash and cacophonous, but yet the loudest part of the day is in the silence when my thoughts are keeping me awake. Well, I decided to listen to these thoughts last night, and after watching this video by Vsauce, I had a thought.

In this video, Michael tells us about the Banach - Tarski Paradox, and how that there are an infinite number of numbers. And that how there is something called "countable infinity", which is the number of integers because you could technically count forever, and something called "uncountable infinity" which is the amount of real numbers between two integers, such as 0 and 1. Michael goes into it way deeper than I ever could, and because of this I suggest watching the video before continuing on with this.

My thought is this. There are only 10 numbers, 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9. Every number past nine is just a sequence of the original ten numbers. However, this also lets the strings of sequences of numbers be infinite in length. At the same time, I believe that all of the real numbers between integers are configured in the same pattern as the infinite sequences of numbers.

I realize that this may not make sense, but remember, I am not a math major, and have no idea if this is actually already a theory or not. All I do know is that this is a thought which kept me awake last night, and that I am unable to put my thoughts into proper words. This is one of those things in which I will keep with me for a while until I am able to ask somebody who knows more than I do about it. On that note, anybody know of anyone with a PhD in math or theoretical math that would be willing to have a conversation?

Deafened

Dan Jira - 6/2016

As I go through the rituals of the day,

I hear the world.

Louder and louder,

As the clock ticks on.

The slow hum of morning,

Is gradually replaced

By the roar of noon.

But the droning roar of noon

Cannot compare

With the discordant cacophony

Of rush hour.

Then the clinking of glasses,

And the sounds from the kitchen,

And the scraping of forks,

All give way to the after dinner quiet.

As the sun sets,

The clouds roll in,

And the quiet evening

Gets quieter.

The howl of the wind is first,

And then the rapid fire of the rain,

And then the booms of thunder,

And the cracking of trees.

And then,

It stops.

All is quiet,

Nothing can be heard.

As I lay in my bed,

Revelling in this quiet,

I can finally hear my thoughts,

And listen to them.

But they scream,

And they wail,

And they won't leave me alone.

The silence is deafening.

Dear Phoebe

Dan Jira - 2/2015

It is as of this moment,

And unto another as of yet undecided

That you leave me here,

Standing,

Alone.

Letting me think.

The most dangerous thing

I have ever done to myself.

I look up from my thoughts,

And see before me,

The infinite winding spiral staircase

They call Love.

I stand here in the middle,

Knowing that even if I go up to bliss,

Or down into madness,

Eventually I will end up here again.

Time on Target

Dan Jira - 1/2015

There is only ever the present moment

Never is it the future

Nor is it ever the past.

Right now is all there ever is,

Tomorrow never comes

And yesterday is always gone.

Electric Snow

Dan Jira - 1/2015

Back in 2010 when TV went digital,

We were without a signal for 2 weeks until we bought a converter.

We would turn on the morning news out of habit to find that a blizzard

Had inhabited the television.

That electrical snow, accompanied by that awful noise is something

That barely any will forget.

The screen that looks like how your arm feels

When it falls asleep.

The screen that somehow makes you want a cup of hot tea,

And sit on the couch in a blanket.

As I write this five years later,

I am happy to say that I do not see this screen as nearly as often as I had.

However, I am still haunted by the electric snow,

From days on end to barely a total of an hour in a week,

I feel it.

The screen of nothingness.

The emptiness of something.

Waiting for something colorful to return,

Or to be turned off.

She Is...

Dan Jira - 8/2013

She is as gentle as a spring breeze, 

But as destructive as a tornado.

She is as beautiful as a rainbow 

After you sit through the storm.

She is as quiet as night,

But infinite like the universe.

She is as strong as ice,

But she will melt in your hand.

She is as wonderful as life,

But as mysterious as death.

The Girl Thought I Loved

Dan Jira - 9/2012

Back in grade school,

You were everything.

I thought of you during the loneliest,

Darkest hours of the night.

You were the one

That I admired from afar,

That made my grades slip

Because I was only paying attention to you.

For five years I suffered

Never telling anyone

Who mattered the most to me

You.

I never told you,

I never told my friends,

I never told anyone.

Yet here I am,

Confessing on a sheet of paper,

To the world,

On the internet

For everyone to see.

That you were the one,

The girl with the curly blonde hair,

And the light blue eyes.

The girl that broke her arm skiing,

And her leg trampoline-ing.

The girl that I asked to my first homecoming,

The girl that accepted my invitation,

And let me think that it would be mutual.

The girl that let me down.

The girl that wanted to go home with some other guy. 

The girl that I bought my first suit for,

And went to a classy restaurant for.

The girl I waited five years for.

You.

You are that girl.

The girl that taught me to be quiet.

The girl that taught me to forget.

The girl that taught me sadness.

The girl that taught me that I wasn't good enough.

And still,

I lay awake in bed,

Reminiscing when you were the girl with the curly blonde hair,

And the light blue eyes.

And I realize that you were not the cure,

But the poison.