The numbers run through my head like a jet stream. More and more flood in while I scramble to make sense out of it. The patterns become apparent and the sequences and algorithms fall into place.

I can no longer think clearly as everything in sight forms into functions and conic sections. The ground beneath me slopes into an imaginary land. An infinitesimally tiny limit on my mind opens a new range of possibilites and probabilities.

The domain of my own imagination ceases to exist. Rational, irrational, natural, none of it matters any more.

All my life will ever amount to is a single zero within a gooleplex of ideas, theories, proofs, identities.

They form into icosahedrons, prisms.

Even the smallest vertex is a vortex of binary and bits.

The remainder is a product of time and thought.

It is intrinsic. It is essential. 

It is the origin of all.