Figures.
Little numbers like to jump and play. They bop around with skinny black legs reaching all the way down to their happy zucchini feet, in big comfortable sideways-striped Doctor Seuss socks. Little number Seven hops around seven times and then says, "Me! Me! Me!" Little number Three hops three times and exclaims like a far-away Munchkin, "Me! Me! Me! Pick me! I'm Number Three!"
And poor number Zero. He never knows what to say. He has no legs, and half the time he's stuck in the ground like an eager beet. He doesn't often get chosen. The Interpreters have learnt not to choose poor Number Zero, because when they do, he never shuts up it's like YAK YAK YAK YAK. His ego is like as big as the business plan of the frickin Big Bang. Going on and on, like my posts. And he takes up all your time - so much time, in fact, that it starts to feel... infinite and, dare I say it, eternal. So much damn infinite time of yours does he consume that, well, there is no room for anything else, and so, there is no time. It just disappears. Completely. If time was your ear, then he has just talked it off.
"Oh, he he!" he laughs. That's why they call me Zero."
So, yeah. The Interpreters basically decided that the best way to deal with this freak was basically to keep him grounded - balanced out - you know? Between positive numbers and negative numbers, like between matter and anti-matter. He's as good as a virtual particle that virtually doesn't exist, Humpty Dumpty sitting on his wall. Number Zero. He sits there like an orangutan, wise eyes watching this temporal world go by, in two directions at once. Day after day. Alone on a hill. He's on SSRI's now. Pretty hard to deal with the fact that your are, on the one hand, existing, and yet your existence is an empty void - a non-existence. Both within each other. He's there, and yet he's not. He's Yin yet he's Yang. Both inside the other, gambolling. Gambling. At the mercy of the Interpreters.
All the other numbers have something to live for, seeing as they are not stuck, carrying around their own contradiction within themselves. Or, so they think. So do negative numbers think. They both go their separate ways, content to be incomplete, with anxieties and goals and desires and dreams - not like Mr. Zero these days... Until...
Along comes the great war between the numbers. They all line up and shoot at each other, cancelling each other out. Big, BIG explosion it was. Like, the Second Great Big Bang. But Number Zero, he was like Switzerland, just sitting up there on a fence, dealing with his own demons of completeness within absence.
And that was fine, because... He was kinda ahead of the curve on all that.
And poor number Zero. He never knows what to say. He has no legs, and half the time he's stuck in the ground like an eager beet. He doesn't often get chosen. The Interpreters have learnt not to choose poor Number Zero, because when they do, he never shuts up it's like YAK YAK YAK YAK. His ego is like as big as the business plan of the frickin Big Bang. Going on and on, like my posts. And he takes up all your time - so much time, in fact, that it starts to feel... infinite and, dare I say it, eternal. So much damn infinite time of yours does he consume that, well, there is no room for anything else, and so, there is no time. It just disappears. Completely. If time was your ear, then he has just talked it off.
"Oh, he he!" he laughs. That's why they call me Zero."
So, yeah. The Interpreters basically decided that the best way to deal with this freak was basically to keep him grounded - balanced out - you know? Between positive numbers and negative numbers, like between matter and anti-matter. He's as good as a virtual particle that virtually doesn't exist, Humpty Dumpty sitting on his wall. Number Zero. He sits there like an orangutan, wise eyes watching this temporal world go by, in two directions at once. Day after day. Alone on a hill. He's on SSRI's now. Pretty hard to deal with the fact that your are, on the one hand, existing, and yet your existence is an empty void - a non-existence. Both within each other. He's there, and yet he's not. He's Yin yet he's Yang. Both inside the other, gambolling. Gambling. At the mercy of the Interpreters.
All the other numbers have something to live for, seeing as they are not stuck, carrying around their own contradiction within themselves. Or, so they think. So do negative numbers think. They both go their separate ways, content to be incomplete, with anxieties and goals and desires and dreams - not like Mr. Zero these days... Until...
Along comes the great war between the numbers. They all line up and shoot at each other, cancelling each other out. Big, BIG explosion it was. Like, the Second Great Big Bang. But Number Zero, he was like Switzerland, just sitting up there on a fence, dealing with his own demons of completeness within absence.
And that was fine, because... He was kinda ahead of the curve on all that.