Feb 2019 again, but better late than never

Youngest mathbaby:
I love you. 
I see your face, and who you makes me smile a smile of joy.
I identify with you.  That means that I see you as a part of me.  Because you are part of me, I'm okay with giving myself to you, to better you, to maximize the good you can get in life.
I want you to live.  There is a chorus of fools, ghosts from my past, that chant they want me dead.  I speak into you the words opposing what they say.  I deeply want you to have real life.  You have my blessing, my permission, my blessing, to be amazing and have a life worth having.
If you let me, I will give good.

Middlest mathbaby:
I love you.
I see your face, and who you are makes me smile when I see you. 
I see the wild curly hair that you identify as yours, and I remember the wild curly hair that I, as a boy, hated as a kid.  It was a bane of my existence, but intrinsically me.  I see your pride, and delight and I am delighted, and comforted that it did someone any good instead of harm, and I delight in your delight.
I see your art, and your jumping and running, and your dancing, and fairy houses: your alien.  I love how alien you are, it is beautiful.  It is the scent of you, and though I couldn't possibly put a ruler to it, I have learned to deeply love it.
You look to me for a road to greatness, and to be as fun as you remember me to be.  It compels excellence, drives me to want to give you such things.  I need to be needed.  My meaningfulness, while limited by my comprehension, is architected in part by your perspective, and your vision. 
I love to sit and play video games with you.  I like your brave, your fun.  I like how deeply you love your friends even when they are deeply flawed people. 

Oldest.  Largest?  Little girls want to be big girls.  Grown girls detest being called big because they equate it with fat or ugly.  Your gender engineers chunks of its vocabulary so that it can't win, doesn't it.

Math old/big girl:
You were the first mathbaby.
I see you and see a thousand images of your face flash by, from the 4d ultrasound months before you were born to the moment of your birth to the grump of last week and your tweenage silliness.


.... to be continued... 

Mid-October 2021 and midbrain graph cognitive structural stochastic resonances...

 Hey there mathgirls,

A genius I know (E) uses cleverly correlated white noise to stimulate traffic in corpus callosum.  I was thinking about this as I was trying to find my old favorite simplynoise.  I used to be able to tune up a color of noise for optimal cognitive stochastic resonance with particular songs.  The music of the 80's shows that music industry already knew then (at some level) that additive noise of the right color can crisp or blur sounds. 

We are almost at the tech-level for me to be able to re-engineer mathematical language into Klingon, so that instead of being comprised of the names of old dead guys, it is what it means.  I think to do so would be to give humanity to own the future of all science.  

I had the idea that one could encode the graph of that mathematics into the nature of the correlations of the white noise, and imprint it on the structure of the infantile brain.  Such a thing could make it easier to be a Boltzmann, or other once in a thousand-year genius.  Humanity needs more of those.

-mathdad

It is 2021, or so they say

It has  been a rough year.  There were good things, but the world got crazy.

I don't know how to post here anymore.  I need to re-read "she calls me daddy" and "letters from dad".  I need to find this "dad" person again.

-dad