the finite number of angles in a shape is such a beautiful thing! the compromise embedded in it is so infuriating and so true, that as dramatically obtuse as one wishes to be, to wander off at 2 degrees into the great beyond, one must double back just as acutely. one must conserve the shape, to admit to oneself that one is a rhombus, and to have no more than 360 degrees in one's journey.
it's amazing because it seems like a line could solve the problem if it just kept running away, through the canadian wilderness, across the Indian Ocean, but it doesn't! the line can postpone and postpone but eventually it must reverse itself, and head back towards its germ, the nonexistent, massless miracle of a mathematical point. it's a story of a prodigal child in a deterministic world.
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