by Scott Aaronson
Those hands on the cover, they're the only indulgence
the papers, an orgy of bound-tightening,
unique-neighbor expanders, bounded-depth Frege, ,
we need to argue for the case when
The hands reach upward,
palms turned, exultant in their certitude but trembling also.
Three fingers on the left, two on the right, sport pointed tips,
from which sprout the sinuous tails of spermatozoa,
drawn to an octahedral ovum made of cubes,
suspended, midair, beneath the architecture of the infinite.
The science section at Cody's
Consciousness in Four Dimensions
Chaos, Creativity, and Cosmic Consciousness
If after thirty years' work you cleaved NP from P
such books would still be written as today
and would find a dozen readers
for every one who knew what you had done.
And stillpoor bastardssome would fall
into the preposterous grip
of those hands
that reach for eternity
one lemma at a time.
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