Tags: maths

cass, can you not

A beautiful (and terrifying, in its contemporary veracity) prose poem

algorithm angels

These are the Pharoah's life & death guys. These are his guys of life & death, the certainty of making his decisions bursts from their skin every second & every second of that second, like: knowledge! brass reflections! water! white of eye & pure smiles of delight of children! These guys are the full beauty of the Pharoah's decision made. You may die but it will be the perfect call. You may live & it will be the perfect call. Everyone is happier when they pass. Everyone is happier, meeting those guys in the market place. Their tread–light, active, gracile, musical–is a measure. They know the date of birth, they know–within one glowing week, give or take a percentage not even the Pharoah can calculate–the day of death. Some things can not be known, & they glint with the mischief of admitting that. The corner of their eye glints with the delight of the mischief of the residue that can't be known. No one knows when they die, those angel guys, & they keep that residue of laughter all their days. They are the guys of the Pharoah who lives in the dark in the pyramid, in the liquid actuarial core of all the things of the world.

(...) The liquid actuarial core of all the things of the world. My god, what a phrase. If somebody wrote a paean of and warning about contemporary financial technology (and these days everything is financial technology), they could do much worse than to use it as a title, and the whole text as a frontispiece.