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  • Writer's pictureHussain Zaidi

The Soul of a Mathematician

Updated: Sep 8, 2019

I wake up in the morning. My mouth is raw from the previous night’s cigarettes and betel nuts. The groggy sensation, after effects of a mini overdose of sleeping pills is still present. I cough up some mucus and ponder at what I have become. Yet the strength to ponder disappears and I disappear into the grey undefined areas of my life once again.

I am awakened by the sudden power failure, I can feel beads of sweat dripping down my neck following the curvature of my spine. The now stagnant fan on the roof reminds me of myself and how brilliance can be a man’s downfall. It is then that the decision to eliminate the grey areas and make things into perfect monochrome is made. Perfect blacks, perfect white upon the canvas of life only appease the eye for a limited period of time. Then suddenly the color palette bounces vividly in front of the third eye of consciousness and drags me into a now deeper, yet completely different and beautiful void, the void of consciousness...

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