So, I saw Philbert walking around in circles in my basement,
again. I’m not sure what had him all hot
and bothered, and it didn’t seem like he was all that certain, either.
“Oh God,
what have I done?” he mumbled fervently. I tried to reply in case he was
talking to me, but he interrupted me with, “It wasn’t your fault, Phil, and you
know it. They made you do it. Pi is
relentless and omnipresent, you can’t help that.”
Maybe he
had prevented me from interrupting him; I’m not sure how the semantics of situations
like this go. Someone almost interrupted
someone else, in any case, but it was foiled effortlessly. Phil was sweating a bit. I only noticed
because of the evidence on his shirt. I wasn’t close enough or concerned enough
to see if there was sweat on his face or anything. He must have been power
walking like that in circles for a while.
How’d it
take me so long to notice it? He was
hiding in the basement, sure, but I usually catch him close to the start of
these, what would you call ‘em, sessions?
“Is this
close enough? It has to be. Pi wouldn’t
have it any other way. It is exact. It
is endless. It is perfect and irrational
at the same time, how can we not see that we must be as it is?”
I hadn’t
heard Phil talk like this before. What
the fuck was he talking about? Pie isn’t endless unless you make it endless.
You’d have to have an infinite amount of resources, which he doesn’t have, so
he shouldn’t concern himself with it. He
was definitely concerned, though.
“Fibonacci
was the real genius, he figured out the secret of Pi’s golden ratio. You don’t see people handing out literature
on that, though, do you,” he weirdly rambled on. By weirdly, I mean he used a fucked-up
sounding voice that he doesn’t usually use.
It could just be something he does to differentiate between perspectives
when he talks to himself, how should I know? It sounded really strange,
though. I figured I’d try to snap him
out of that shit to see if he could explain himself.
“Hey,
Philbert? Anyone home, man?”
“Of course,
that’s more like Phi than Pi,” he continued, ignoring me like an asshole. He isn’t usually an asshole, though. “Not much difference in our spelling of
those, if you think about it. Phi is
just Pi with an ‘h’ in the middle, as if humans got in the middle of
perfection, screwing it up.”
“Ok, that’s
nice,” I told him, in case some part of him was subversively listening to
me. I told him I’d be back, then went
upstairs. Found a few oatmeal cream pie
things in the kitchen, they had to be his.
I can’t stand the thought of eating those now that I’m properly acquainted
with internet porno. I grabbed two or
three, went back downstairs, and decided to play a game. I could feed Philbert and entertain myself at
the same time. Why not?
As he
retraced the circle end over end, I tried to toss the cream pies in the middle
of the circle without hitting him. His
frantic pace made this an interesting challenge, and he stepped on one of them.
His loss more than mine, but I still lost points. I had good luck other than that, so I left
him in the basement to whatever ends he was planning.
If you’re
wanting to go down there, good luck.
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