For his epitaph Paul Erdös suggested,
"I've finally stopped getting dumber."
("Végre nem butulok tovább.")
I doubt You but wish You would not hide my socks and Hungarian passport. Why must you keep the most elegant proofs in The Book? You said (in Your big voice) Go forth and multiply, and though I had no boss or upsilon, multiply I did: theory, theorem, article and postulate. I’ve wandered as the tribes did, more than 40 years, owned little, cared less, traversed a linked list of colleague and concept without proving You exist, or don’t. It does not matter. At three years of age, I’d calculate for friends how many seconds they had lived. And so I ask…have You counted my remaining days? Hope is the square root of two (poor Hippasus drowned for – in? – his knowledge) or three, or pi – I must admit, I thought I might be irrational, headed for infinitude, no pattern to my path or perhaps I’d reach 175 like father Abraham (his prime!) but lately I suspect, though my brain is open, there’s an end to my expansion – that You and Time are whole and real and rational, the rest of us fractional at best, allowed only a glimpse into (the fleeting satisfaction of solution) what we call (for lack of an eloquent number) the Sublime.