Ratios
Just let me show you. Wait. Hold on a second.
I don’t need to see. I don’t need to hold on a second. It’s wrong, and you know it’s wrong.
It’s not though, it’s not. 1.618 is the ratio. My head, my arm. My height, my belly button. It’s golden. Divine, even.
Honey, if the ratio of your height and belly button… I mean, shit. Think about it. Even the NBA would call you a freak. It’s not going to work. And, you know? There are other things to pay attention to. Other things that you should be paying attention to now.
It’s not because of that book, you know. I’m not dumb enough to think that Da Vinci Code book is real.
No, of course not. You just took one little wildly exaggerated factoidal tidbit and – without even the benefit of a tape measure – wander all over the house trying to show yourself that it’s true. Got it. Not the same thing. And meanwhile, well, we need to go.
Don’t tell me that. Don’t tell me we need to go. It’s my fucking funeral. Goddammit, it’s my brother. Fuck. I know we need to go. I’m just. I’m taking a minute. I’m just taking a minute here.
I know, sweetheart.
I just…is it so dumb? I just want to find some poetry in the world, some reason.
I know.
I just need something that makes some sort of sense.
