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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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What's the worst part of cleaning up after a big outdoor barbecue?
The annoying sound of crickets when I look for someone to help me do so.
You know, crickets? Because all my "friends" are gone and my voice is echoing in the vast empty nothingness, but crickets don't echo; they just chirp annoyingly.
I already said "annoying," I know, but that's to underscore my point.
Anyway, I don't like to clean. I mean, I don't think many people do, but they do it anyway because they feel shamed into doing so. Not me. I'm shameless. I do have to make sure there's no food or scraps lying around outside, because then I get trash pandas.
But I get trash pandas anyway. One evening, I was out on my deck playing a game on my laptop (I don't mind being outdoors so much at night, provided it's warm enough) when I stepped inside to relieve myself. I mean, sure, I thought about just going off the deck, but even I have my limits. Anyway, in the 30 seconds or so that I was gone, raccoons happened.
I came back from the bathroom to find that a trash panda had pulled the screen door open, slunk inside, and commenced scarfing down my cats' dry food.
I looked at the raccoon. He looked at me. He laughed. No, really, I swear, he just fucking laughed at me. Then he took another big bite of kibble and darted out the door.
One of these days I'm going to fix the latch on that door. Not that doing so would stop a raccoon.
(not mine but it conveys the idea) |
© 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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