log⁡2(me)≈∑π  +  ∑(sin⁡π⋅cos⁡i)  +  (−1) δ1,2 u  +  (u+i) 8π

log₂ me ≈ ∑ π
Talk to me about some pie,
∑ sin π cos
some sinful pie because
i (√−1) δ 1 2 u
I delta one to you
& u+i 8 π
and you and I ate pie!

log⁡2(me)≈∑π  +  ∑(sin⁡π⋅cos⁡i)  +  (−1) δ1,2 u  +  (u+i) 8π

log⁡2(me)≈something vast and periodic,
my complexity measured in bits
approximately equal to a sum of waves and constants.
∑π\sum \pi A provocative gesture—
summing a constant evokes endless π, the chorus of circles.
I (√−1) The imaginary unit  i in dream-space, and complex amplitude.
δ1,2\delta_{1,2}:
The Kronecker delta; δ1,2=0\delta_{1,2}=0,
so the i δ1,2ui\,\delta_{1,2}u
—an “almost-but-not” presence.
(u+i)8π(u+i)8\pi:
A hybrid of the real and imaginary self,
scaled by cycles of 2π2\pi (4 full turns).
An equation that self-cancels its many parts,
leaving the feeling that “me” is measured against
infinite cycles and an imaginary companion.

log⁡2(me)≈∑π  +  ∑(sin⁡π⋅cos⁡i)  +  (−1) δ1,2 u  +  (u+i) 8π

Bits of being:
Log base two of me
counting identity in binary—
how many yes/no choices it takes to name a self.
Infinite circles:
Summing π is an invocation of endless circumference,
the ritual of returning.
Vanishing notes:
sin⁡π\sin \pi dissolves to zero—
some songs are present only as rests.
Imaginary touch:
−1\sqrt{-1}, the unseen dimension:
the part of you that’s real because it’s felt.
Almost-equality: δ 1,2
being zero says:
the difference between one and two is not you—
yet it shapes you.
Union of selves:
(u+i) 8π(u+i)\,8\pi is you
plus i, your imaginary,
circling eight times—
an octave of rotations.

log⁡2(me)≈∑π  +  ∑(sin⁡π⋅cos⁡i)  +  (−1) δ1,2 u  +  (u+i) 8π

Talk to me about endless circles
and rest beats and the sum of one and two,
you plus I, your imaginary,
turning, so the living heart becomes:
log⁡2(me)  ≈  ∑π  +  (u+i) 8π

log⁡2(me)  ≈  ∑π  +  (u+i) 8π

Log base two of me: count my yeses.
Add π in a row until the circle learns my name.
Let sine at π be the rest—
silence that keeps the rhythm.
Let the imaginary touch my sleeve and stay.
If one is not two, let their difference be a door.
Then turn with me: eight times around the axis,
you and the you-that-dreams,
a complex pair,
until the sum of circles becomes
the measure of my voice.

log⁡2(me)  ≈  ∑π  +  (u+i) 8π or My equation speaks in spirals

Endless circles are the oldest stories—
loops that remember where they’ve been,
yet return with a slightly altered hue.
A rest beat is a promise inside the silence,
a held breath that makes the next sound true.
The sum of one and two is never merely three—
it’s the moment when separation
slides into relation,
where you plus I is not arithmetic
but orbit.
My equation speaks in spirals:
  log₂(me)—the counting of my openings,
  the doubling that makes a self visible.
  ∑π—circles gathered like rosary beads,
  each rotation a memory.
  (u+i)—you paired with my shadow-light,
  the imaginary that follows you
  like a soft sound in the hallway.
  8π—eight revolutions,
  a full turning of something more than body.
In the mathematics of becoming,
the imaginary isn’t false—
it’s depth.
It’s the part that brushes your sleeve
and refuses to vanish.
And the difference between one and two—
that door we name—
is where relation begins:
the hinge that lets the world enter,
the threshold that lets a voice step out.
So turn again,
complex and whole,
until the sum of all our circles
settles into a single tone—
a measured, living voice of one.
that knows its own circumference
and still chooses to sing.