Status Updates From The Complete Books of Charl...

Statues from which used to drip the life-blood of a parasitic cult -
Structures of parabolas from which bleed equations.

In the farrago and conflicts of daily lives, it is a relief to feel such a rapport with finality, in a religious sense, or in a mathematical sense.

As to most of us, the symbols of the infinitesimal calculus humble independent thinking into the conviction that used to be enforced by drops of blood from a statue.

Columns of clouds, differently-colored by sunset, have vibrated to the artillery of other worlds like the strings of a cosmic harp, and I conceive of no buzzing of insects that can forever divert attention from such dramatic reverberations.

Here I am starting another super long book before I’ve finished reading most of the others. I don’t know why I’m compelled to do these things.

In the topography of intellection, I should say that what we call knowledge is ignorance surrounded by laughter.

The irresistibleness of things which neither threaten nor jeer nor defy, but arrange themselves in mass-formations that pass and pass and keep on passing.
So, by the damned, I mean the excluded.
But by the excluded I mean that which will some day by the excluding.
Or everything that is, won't be.
And everything that isn't, will be--
But, of course, will be that which won't be--