I do not find the exactness of things a beauty. They keep things limited to its surreal surroundings and making their potential more realizable, quantifiable and predictable as the circumstances unravel. Perhaps that is the reason why I do not love or do not find mathematics interesting. They give us order. They give us measures, parameters and structures. Nothing is left for us to expand the horizons of our imagination. A ripple of thought becomes an equation to solve. Consequently, an array of ideas are transformed as an irrefutable law to prove.
Descartes have defined perfection through Math and its precise methodologies. But since I believe that perfection is a distortion of reality for the sake of idealism and stability, I humbly think that perfection simply is the void in the Structure. That one point we always try to fill either with fear, anger or bliss. That one point that fuels us to be in constant pursuit of whatever we believe in. That point that makes everything fragile. That’s the perfection of things. That’s the place for your vivid or vague imagination. That void keeps on expanding to further accommodate the society’s perception of how things should be, in their mind or though their calculation.
