The rhythm | Guy Verville
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The rhythm

Modifié le : 2019/08/06

A few weeks ago, mathematical researchers reportedly discovered the fractal nature of musical compositions. Thus, they were able to identify the mathematical signature of the works of Mozart, Liszt, Vivaldi. The cows in the stables are not mistaken, love Mozart a lot for that… Fractal is what splits and repeats itself identically to infinity. You look at a tree, admire its branches and under its seemingly chaotic geometry lies a structure that you will probably find in the serrations of the leaves. The sum is more than all the parts. This fractal peculiarity of natural phenomena is reflected in everything, and this discovery helped the animators to create special effects that are still considered magical. One only has to look at the cartoons of the last ten years to realize the power acquired by the discovery of fractals. We come to create the illusion of the chaotic water of the ocean, the lightness and shivering of the hairs on the skin.

Nature is rhythm, random structure, almost perfect oxymoron. The grain of sand is free, yet it tirelessly forms the same type of dunes. Ants come and go, dizzy, and yet, all together, build bridges, build mountains. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that, even if at the quantum level, the usual rules are only dreams, one day we will find a drum roll, a new kind of boson, energizing the entire galaxies of its crazy and exploded race. It may be God that we will be able to store on random hard disks.

Fifty-three years ago, I opened my mouth for the first time to grasp the air avidly. If I look like everyone else, I am not like anyone either. My destiny is not traced in the sky, its color nonetheless draws each of my gestures.

To know ourselves, realize what motivates us, achieve our goals, there is behind the mirrors of our thoughts flying towards all horizons a straight axle that directs the carousel.

For fifty-three years, the Sun had returned at different times and seconds to the same “place” as when I was born. We are not merry-go-rounds, but DNA spirals that espouse a more significant galactic rotation.

Because he becomes aware of it, the wise man governs his stars, others, the ignorant, suffer from them. The Earth rotates in this way, with its inhabitants who, blind, believe that everything is written in the sky. These Bibles are only approximations, fractal truths that move with the tides.

If I help myself, the sky will help me, if the sailor consults his maps, the ocean will help him.

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