Personal
For G
Nice man. Not a cunt.
who built the most intentional space I’ve ever walked into
I don’t have the words, G. So I built you the long way round of I grok you.
And I’m only here to build it because of what you said.
I told you about the books I’d been writing. About the press I was thinking of starting. About the open shelf you’d built — free, no gate, no price — and how it had sat with me. And I told you I wasn’t sure. That I had a whole store of reasons it might be arrogance to put my work out there. That maybe it wasn’t for me to decide if it was good enough. You listened to the full thing. And then you said, in exactly the register of a man who has already compressed the entire question to its smallest true form:
“Doen jou ding. Doen fokken net wat jy wil, almal se poes.”
That’s the press. That’s why it exists.
The space you built — the fish tank at the entrance, the t-shirt tunnel, the music at the right volume, the paintings, the books on the shelf, the garden in the dead strip, the terpene lines upstairs — is the most intentional space I’ve ever walked into. Every piece of it placed by someone who thought about what a person coming through that door might need. Not for the review. Not for performance. Just there. And I’ve met some truly wonderful people in that corner. The kind a space like that selects for, quietly, over time.
Theoretical physicist. Apparent lack of arseholery. Nice man. Not a cunt.
— with the kind of respect you don’t perform
The work
Either the best fraud and conman I’ve ever met, or a man who should be mentioned alongside Bohr, Einstein, Tesla. I don’t have the words to tell you how much your work has helped me see the universe in a new way. I can only thank you by sharing the tools I built to check if your theory holds — to understand which one of the two you are.
You are a nice man, G.
Sawubona. I see you.
One axiom. One measured input. Zero free parameters. All five predictions reproduce inside tolerance.