Okay, I have a math question, mister super mod Math Whizz.
Last Year, I was on Christmas break from Westminster College in Fulton Missouri. I was typing up a log of memoirs, mostly recent, and the whole time a voice, a female voice, was over my shoulder and in my ear. Usually didn't say much worth repeating but it gave continual feedback like it had no life of its own, and after I had already ratted out most elements of the Great Cultural Hypocrisy and the finer details of the Grand Conspiracy, you know, things like Blabbing [lip-smacking syllable resemblances then denying it because it's the rules] and the Media's Mass Castration campaigns via direct assault on the human id, I got to the point where I recounted the time that ****ed up my entire idea of sound reality. Point Z, when I was sitting in biology, on Zoloft at the time, awake for 35 hours, and trying to keep up a conversation with my classmates, Zach and John, I got to the point where I asked them, "So are we really living in the Matrix." Zach said yes, My brain went into a furious tingling, and a feeling like all my consciousness had been sucked to the back. I looked to Zach and he pointed at me saying, "Yup, the Toxin." and John telling me, "Go Pee."And I fled toward the office, found the world blacking out halfway there and, thought I might have died, Since then reality had been pulling several nefarious tricks on me. Things and people behaving in ways beyond explanation, or rather, believability.
e.g. my dad referring to the blackout point the very same day before I'd even told him, the textbook named "anxiety attack" and then my Mom's invidious Dog Sheba not only talking often, but barfing up a marinara-covered meatball that it could have never ingested, and telling me, "Give up foul-mouth, you can't win."
When I had recounted that "Anxiety Attack", the female voice jumped at the opportunity, and told me, "Right, now time for you to die." I felt the exact same **** as the first time. Only I wasn't on anti-depressants [death pills] that could explain it away. The first time, it was easily discounted by the textbook explanation of a seratonine disorder in the brain. but the second time, I guess, the party messed up, or Westminster College serves Lab Rat Burgers, which needs to be investigated. You can't just have an anxiety attack at home on the computer. And less than a minute after the blackout had passed. I heard another voice, male, saying, "Don't you know Betas are different from Epsilons. Kind of...comforting isn't it." staging a weird, thrump of sensation that leapt up inside me exactly at the word comforting. And my old friend Ralph told me, casually, "You'll sweat." I then went up to my room and tried to sleep it off. Because I'd no reason to trust these people, even as representatives of the college, [which they didn't even present themselves as.]
Since then I'm not certain of anything but that we are in the Matrix, and I believe I may be trapped inside the College's own simulation. The students whom I assume were involved in the second "Anxiety Attack" seemed to be kind of, authoritative, as if they had ties to higher ups. Or just your 1984 Inner Party Memebers.
Anyway, since then Math has been Magic, and even my Nephew [who's hardly in sixth grade] is apparently better at it, [the magic aspect] than I am. the Math=Magic part doesn't bother me too much, but after my Roommate Derick Dailey poisoned me with a cookie, conspired with the police to have lies reported officially and to have him pretentiously left above suspicion and above the law. And then, while i was in the hospital recovering, and he harassed me on the phone whenever I spoke to someone else who called, hearing his voice intercede each time [an impossible but made real happening] And all the other begrudging students, or unjustified maligned took their turn at my belongings, musical, or otherwise. I've had this huge problem.
See every time I play guitar now, there's a massive crank-up of my natural hallucinations. Only they don't just pertain to the people physically around me. I'll be hearing the voices of Mrs. Carey, my old Latin teacher, and most obnoxiously people from the College, to such an extent that it fundamentally ruins the art form. Much like influential crap-downning ruins Most of the mass media. I could think of only one explanation for this entirely impossible phenomenon. It had to be Math Magic, or Mathic.
Now here's where the actually pragmatic question comes in. I assume somehow, these malefactors have mathed a communication channel onto my guitar and even more strong communication channels on certain compositions. Strangely though, these are not limited to the number I had with me at the time of my attendance and subsequent hospital visit, between which times my guitar and gear was open to such manipulations. This never absent flux of their communication over my sounds, basically ruined my whole purpose in creating my own music [to safely fill the inculcated aesthetic need with a home-made clean product] and really had an impact on my feeling about the value of life itself. I've already committed suicide with pills, and I just can't seem to cease existing.
I have in my posession, one College Algebra Book, and an Elemantary statistics book. So I need to know which chapter can I consult to shut off whatever communication channels they established on my guitar, amp, or whatever device. Prayers to the Gods did nothing, so I have to take the magic into my own command. There's one chapter on which a picture is placed at the front, depicting a dam from a top-down view. It looks sort-of like an insect head drowning, or communicates the idea of a reduction of flux. But none of those formulae have worked for me.
I've already graphed death on the main malefactor [code name Hentai] and later the president [purely in thought though] by some hardly natural impulse, which I suspect must've been in the subliminal messages of Coldplay's X&Y with the shading of the are between a Parabola x^2 - 3 and and the line x=0 representing the frontal lobe.
Then I performed a similar function on myself. This one on a TI-82 calculator. shading an X^3 function's overlap with an X^2-2 and had something that felt like a stroke or a black electric mass rush up from my neck through the left side of my brain. This was how I confirmed that math had definitely become Magic since the second download into an alternate Reality.
So if the functions in my Algebra Book are not working and Dylan Bannon, the actual Maynard [or singer of tool, my High School Band] mathed a Musical Death on me when I played Viginti Tres Backwards as I did because Mrs. Carey lied and told me, "If you really want to off yourself, listen to it backwards" I figured it would just math a stroke or some reasonable death. The Pun, "Forget you Travis." Was obvious. As well as "We get to Trace."Referring to the part where the flames synchronize with Jambi/Bambi. As if Lipan Conjuring wasn't enough...
[Oh yeah Dylan Gloat over it. Betas never get tired of gloating even though they fight continually from an unfair advantage. [Eight Extra hours, awake while asleep] You never stop winning. Especially when you chose to victimize people who have no real chance of countering. Why don't you go repeatedly stab some new-born children or something. In principle it's the same. ]
...Is it possible I'm going to have to pore for months over several different math books, like all the way up to Calculus, just to achieve homeostasis. Or would it be better explained as "Beta decrees it, Heil Hitler, and F*** You!" and no matter what Math I study the reality malfunction will continue because Dylan is an inner party member with a grudge and more power than can satisfy his boredom.
Put more simply. Exponential functions apply to Angelology right. and Logarithmic Functions apply to Music. But since Angelology is involved with Music, I suppose both would be handy for a musician [mostly in tone quality and variation]. But what funtions apply to long distance, across the world communications and more particularly negating them. Is it Inverse Functions or Regular Functions?
Oh yeah, and little Travises, how you know what applies to a math formula is by seeking carefully for syllables or effects around you when you're writing it and/or solving it. Often it's by talking scratches, or Fricative Thought Projection. And is if that weren't exclusive enough, you also have to be in favor of Athena for any of it to even happen.
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