Why're you always pullin' sob-stuff? Honey, what's the big idear? "Will I never love no others? — How many girls do I get a year?" What's the good o' borryin' trouble? Damn tomorrow! What's it worth? Just this lovin' night can give us Everythin' there is on earth.
Say, you know old Apple Annie, Blurry-eyes, and nose all blue? Oncet she was a knock-out looker, Oncet she was as sweet as you. While she's creepin' 'round the alleys Why d'ye think she smiles all day? 'Cause her old bean's all chuck full with Things no years can't take away.
Kiss me like you want to kiss me, Lock your arms around me tight! Don't be fightin' what you're feelin'— Nothin' matters but tonight! When you're dry, and white, and pinched-up You'll remember times like this — You'll be glad and glad, I tell you, For the joys you didn't miss.
Our hands have met, but not our hearts; Our hands will never meet again. Friends, if we have ever been, Friends we cannot now remain: I only know I loved you once, I only know I loved in vain; Our hands have met, but not our hearts; Our hands will never meet again!
Then farewell to heart and hand! I would our hands had never met: Even the outward form of love Must be resign'd with some regret. Friends, we still might seem to be, If I my wrong could e'er forget; Our hands have join'd but not our hearts: I would our hands had never met!
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Track 1
How this picture is made
What a fractal is
A fractal is a shape that keeps its pattern when you look closer. Coastlines, trees, shells, and weather do this. The large form and the small form are the same kind of thing. A poem can be drawn that way. The shape of the whole comes from the shape of the lines.
Primunia is the name for the source of that order: the pattern under the pattern, already there in a tree, a shell, and a verse.
How the boundary is drawn
The number under the picture is the poem constant. It is read from the build of the lines: their length, how uneven they are, the size of the stanzas, the share of vowels, and the way the lines end. A new word moves the number when it changes that build. The same poem always gives the same number.
Drawn on its own, that number sits in a quiet part of the plane, and most poems would look like the same soft disk. So the number is carried outward along its own direction until it meets the edge of the Mandelbrot set, where the shape turns sharp. The picture is the Julia set of that meeting place.
Each point on the canvas is folded again and again by one small rule. Points that stay near the rule form the dark interior. Points that rush away become the coloured bands. The hue comes from the poem constant, and the brightest bands turn toward gold. Change the length of a line, the stanza, or the vowel share, and both the number and the picture move.
What the branching signifies
Branching draws the poem as a tree. Each turn follows a line, and every smaller branch repeats that pattern. A longer line reaches farther. The letters at the start of a line bend the next turn. A higher share of vowels opens the branches wider.
The trunk takes its colour from the poem constant and warms toward gold at the tips. When the poem has more than one stanza, gold forks leave the trunk. Each fork is a stanza beyond the first, up to three. The tree divides where the poem divides. One stanza remains a single trunk.