Sweet! I have all my graduate school applications submitted.
From Infinite Jest, which I’m reading and need a dictionary just about every other page:
Were he still now among the living, Dr. Incandenza would describe tennis in the paradoxical terms of what’s now called ‘Extra-Linear Dynamics’. And Schitt, whose knowledge of formal math is probably about equivalent to that of a Taiwanese kindergartner, nevertheless seemed to know what Hopman and van der Meer and Bollettieri seemed not to know: that locating beauty and art and magic and improvement and keys to excellence and victory in the prolix flux of match play is not a fractal matter of reducing chaos to pattern. Seemed intuitively to sense that it was a matter not of reduction at all, but perversely — of expansion, the aleatory flutter of uncontrolled, metastatic growth — each well-shot ball admitting of n possible responses, 2^n possible responses to those responses, and on into what Incandenza would articulate to anyone who shared both his backgrounds as a Cantorian continuum of infinities of possible move and response, Cantorian and beautiful because infoliating, contained, and diagnate infinity of infinities of choice and execution, mathematically uncontrolled but humanly contained, bounded by the talent and imagination of self and opponent, bent in on itself by the containing boundaries of skill and imagination that brought one player finally down, that kept both from winning, that made it, finally, a game, these boundaries of self.
Someone sang this at tonight’s Poetry Salon. Most of us listening were in tears. It reminds me of a great anti-war film I’ve seen.
So an obtuse triangle and an acute triangle walk into a bar, and…