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Complex Numbers
Complex Numbers
A complex number is expressed in the standard form a + bi, where a and b are real numbers and i is defined by i^2 = -1 (that is, i is the square root of -1). For example, 3 + 2i is a complex number.
The bi term is often referred to as an imaginary number (though this may be misleading, as it is no more "imaginary" than the symbolic abstractions we know as the "real" numbers). Thus, every complex number has a real part, a, and an imaginary part, bi.
Complex numbers are often represented on a graph known as the "complex plane," where the horizontal axis represents the infinity of real numbers, and the vertical axis represents the infinity of imaginary numbers. Thus, each complex number has a unique representation on the complex plane: some closer to real; others, more imaginary. If a = b, the number is equal parts real and imaginary.
Very simple transformations applied to numbers in the complex plane can lead to fractal structures of enormous intricacy and astonishing beauty.
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Stand outside for two minutes. Make a list of ten things you can smell, ten things you can hear, and ten things you can feel.
Out... outside? You mean, like... not inside? You want me to go what now?
Fortunately, it is midnight; the accursed daystar is on the other side of the planet.
So, fine, I'll do the exercise.
Ten things I can smell
1. Tobacco smoke. I figure if I'm going to venture into the Great Unknown, I might as well light up a cigar while I'm out here.
2. The remains of the "present" one of my cats left me.
3. Pollen. It's a good thing I'm not allergic, or all 10 of the items on this list would be "nothing."
4. ...Let's just say it's been a few hours since I've showered, and leave it at that.
5. Stinkbugs. To be fair, I smell them in the house, too.
6. Hm, I think one of my propane tanks is leaking. *looks at burning cigar* *shrugs*
7. Damp wood. It just freaking rained. Luckily, it is no longer raining, or I'd be skipping this exercise.
8. I could be imagining it, but I think there's a faint odor of shit, like there always is in the outdoors.
9. Oh, there it is. Some sort of flowery whiff. It is May, after all.
10. Petrichor. This is one of my favorite words, and it's all thanks to Doctor Who.
Ten things I can hear
1. My cat scratching at the door. I'm outside, so she needs to be, too. She doesn't realize it's wet.
2. Cars. Generally, in every direction, but mostly from the interstate about a mile south of here.
3. Moths trying to commit suicide on my deck light.
4. Meow. Cat's getting insistent; I think I'll go let her out.
5. Creak. Clearly, I need to oil some hinges one of these days. I've been saying that for 23 years, now.
6. The backyard neighbor's stupid fucking dog is howling again.
7. Okay, something just crashed through the underbrush in the backyard. Maybe it's a bear. Or a mountain lion. It's not a skunk; see above.
8. Next-door neighbor's heat pump just kicked in.
9. Loose water is dripping off the leaves and splattering.
10. I have no idea what that squealing noise was, but I'm pretty sure something just died.
Ten things I can feel
1. Trepidation.
2. Wet.
3. Cold.
4. A creepy, crawly sensation down my back. Oh, yeah... spider.
5. Lost, because I'm not indoors.
6. Moths crashing into me when they get bored with the light.
7. Some unidentified bug on my ankle. This is why I hate the outdoors.
8. A scraping sensation where I swatted said bug off of my ankle with my left shoe.
9. The overwhelming desire to go back inside.
10. The bottom of my laptop as I carry it back in. |
© Copyright 2024 Robert Waltz (UN: cathartes02 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved. Robert Waltz has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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