My thoughts fornicate. I reach a perplexing climax in the theoretical discussion of mean retention. Could it all be regressive? The intention here is not to bring in complex statistics to prove something that is completely manufactured and has as a foundation, Vlad’s mental machine. Oh yeah, statistics are bogus, lies, creative aberrations delivered by famous individuals with pitchforks and 666 foreheads, speaking of miracles, when miracles they are not.
So what exactly is mean retention. In the words of the lexiconically challenged, it more or less defines balance. Notice the “more or less,” here are critical. They are, in fact, imperative to the understanding of this dinosaur-old terminology. Now the question I am not along in asking. But why does it apply to me?
Ok there Miss or Mr. University of Toronto graduate. Deflate your chest, unclench your fists, and look straight down at those salt-laden shoes. It doesn’t apply to you. You are the source for this theory, and furthermore, theoretical discussion. While you sleep at night thinking you happen to be special, a creature of utmost extremes, debate and more precisely, rant, this diametrically opposed approach to life you may have equals utter nonsense. Special you are not. A number you indeed are.
So then what are numbers good at or for? They follow eachother in groups, multiply themselves, divide, sometimes add and sometimes subract if you really want to get whacky and think outside the realm of possible human brain numbing thought. Wait, first, let’s recap. Mean retentions, or its regressive nature leads us to understand it as something of a phenomenon displayed by those who are numbers; faceless values.
Now for the :O part. So what? I am concerned. Yes, there may be 6 billion of us, or wait, that should be inaccurate since we multiply like constipated bunnies, and the 10 year census is still half way between end points; but what is important here is an art that has been perfected by casualties for more than 7 centures. Running with the crowd, blending in, wearing skirts at below frostbite levels, staying out of trouble for the sake of confining to governing principles of dogmatic ethics or otherwise, parental consent, censorship, yada yada yada. For the sake of not sounding like a retarded hockey mom, I end on a more mellow and gay note.
Everyone thinks they rule the world, everyone is a baron, a gold infused vehicle of wealth, a driver. This tendency to find personal success in the following and immitating the behaviour of others, hoping to attract empty words of compliment, is…aaarghh…grrrr….uhrmm…something, something bad.
*Statistical provisions extracted from the “Forecasting Institute of Extrapolated History,” and by no means reflect the statistical nature of the author.
‘Til we meet again,
entertain the less docile part of your brain…
Mercutio, Balcony Scene