The Earnest Risks of a Noble Actuary

fig.082) sploosh, this salient and inconsequential arc

Don't you know, we're Dancing Dancing through the flames from our beards, Apostrophy, Parenthesis (in that old order); Mrs. Jamwell June, of Sunny Market Place, Deeply Hopless Records

It started when the other farm's got a taste for herding some of our stray numbers. At first they poached a few of the prime numbers from the bottom of our board. But then the chalk began disappearing too. Soon enough, people all over this valley were leaving. Finally, there wasn’t any will left to use any of it and the whole thing evaporated. I remember the farm before its small math made it so big. Back then, it couldn’t fail because there were plenty of big numbers floating up to the top. There was never a need for Euler or their damn constant. That is until gamma arrived, suggesting that it was the same thing, only different. That’s when the farm broke. That’s when it started making all of us hungry too. 

It's the worst time for empty hands like these. And now that they’ve been pressed into service like a couple cold pennies, blindness always barks when I’m shaving. Reaching out makes the others flinch and not like mentalists, either. They’ll flinch through whole days without sleep. Then they hurry up and wait. From the backs of chairs, they’ll dance without life while whispering to all four sides of equal length. Our calculator room is mostly empty. Its long tables are now buried under paper cups and the shit of rodents that nest there.

Still, I manage to make the most of my time. I fill my pockets with butterflies and their neatly snipped ends. They symbolize creativity and resilience, a leavening. There’s a group of us who have gathered chairs in back, where we’ve arranged the cases and the heavy dust collectors. We’ve made a cozy sort of space for sharing. Now our chairs surround the spool of a makeshift table. A radio plays the nostalgic hits of our youth, so we listen to the constant, aimless floral lather of reverb that hangs between punchy hooks. All we ever hear is, Guitar Guitar Guitar. 

“Do you ever think of that? I bet you don't, Jack. Management is taking everything away. Soon, we won’t have any Buddy to hang out with. We need to ratchet up our selections of history, Jack. Better models for better agency. That’s the sort of change that will serve us, don't you think?” 

“Fuck you Frank, there aren’t any good models left. The ones that are still floating around, they only account for comparative advantages. They’re cosmetic and we can’t use them. What we need, we can’t grind out of history. We’re doing math now, not the Reformation all over again.”

“I agree Jack, but we need something that we haven’t seen before. Something that can’t hide inside of a calendar or be described from inside of the formula for dimensional weight, that’s what we need. We need something like Pi, just not Pi for Dummies!”

“We should expand our historical selections, Frank.” 

“Better models for agency and change will serve us better, don't you think? The good models, the ones that consider comparative advantage, those are the ones we still need. But they're the ones we never get to see anymore. Have you ever thought about that, Jack? I bet you haven't. 

“Management may have taken some of those models off the table, but we still have Buddy, the unwavering companion of capitol.”

“Repeat after me, there's nothing wrong, Jack. This stuff has lasted for a thousand years. All we’re doing is sharing it. We just have to make sure that it doesn’t get too hot. Agency, viscosity or whatever that says in your book there, that’s it.” 

“But it’s not real, Frank. No one talks like this. We've got no soup for the noodle. When Management finally gives us some soup, the holes in our pockets will reach our knees. That's it, finito.”

Of course those are radiant factors all. But what you're not considering are those that make soup Jack.

Frank let me stop you here, this is what I've been saying to you for years. You're too focused on the amenities, the extra soft towels and the creamy lotions. But at the steamy end of the pool is where the heavy salt is getting mixed in with the slurry of thick warm water from the bottom. I'm talking about the pool Frank, you're a million miles away describing a vacation. Now go check the light.