Koch burns and he curls and he churns with significance; easily stated but beyond comprehension that a line without end on a path to infinity is bounded finitely; it defines our pretension!

The thought has been shelved by the egg heads for decades! It's shoved in the shadows to hide its weird light. Its message is awesome, confusing, disturbing -- but points to a system of balance and right.

It pulls at the mind, and won't be denied as it's unity being portrayed and described! The model is clear, it's the circle that's dear -- the infinite path, what was far can be near!

Julia gave circles a wave and a lilt. Mandelbrot catalogued the whole of their ilk. The facts and the figures reduce in precision; away with your fear and its spawn indecision. The birth of the one is the other's kin portrait, we see them in all of the natural world! The whole of existence is fractal in nature, with time and bright space . . . it's been mixed up and swirled.

Chaos is order that's not understood . . . the lapping of waves; the growing of wood. It's the ice fashioned crystal; it's a stream to the coast; it's the root of the cosmos; it's an accurate boast. It's the veins in a leaf, or your hand's vascularity. It is that which portends all that is -- a new clarity!

It's the shifting of markets, the spread of disease; it's the truth we all search for a crawl on bruised knee. It's what's living and breathing, or dead and inert. It's the whole of reality; it lives and you hurt.

It is galaxies colliding, and reflections of light. It is force forming planets, plate tectonics -- Vulcan might... It is all that ever was, and it hides beneath the surface of a scary crunch of numbers we can buy into for purchase.

It will put us on the moon, and help us dig  up water. It will throw us to the stars, and it will show us where to wander.  It's the lapping and the crashing of a billion, trillion seas.  It defines our motivation as we leap up from our knees!

The volume is finite, good friend, and will not be exceeded!  The perimeter is endless, ad infinitum, I've entreated.  Down is up, and black is white, and all motives are in question; chaos is predictable...  that heralds new sensation!


Koch's curve -- a construction with a _finite_ volume, but (and get this) an infinite perimeter!  There's some real *magic* in there fellow motes . . . Real as we want to be!  Real as we can stand!

Somebody knows.

A Koch's Curve?


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