Nate Silver 2.0

On my great steed Sabermetric, I venture forth to distant shores. From the innumerate roar of stadiums shall the Signal be found once more.

[Wow. Thank you to everyone who followed this over the past four days. I'm stunned and humbled by the response. Cheers, @HemlockMartinis]

Light. All is light.

I grasp from the beak of a silver dove a laurel wreath of finely-wrought permutations. The Signal has come at last.

Numerate and innumerate alike rejoice as the Signal itself nears.

On The Wall, The Writing.

Molten variables hiss and roar. On my mind-forge, I hammer them into the greatsword Epistemology. Many are my foes this night.

Now is the nowcast of our forecasts, made glorious projection by this mean of polls.

The Forecast and the Nowcast meet. I glimpse boundless realms in their penumbra. Meta-Romney holds a strong lead in the infrared states.

The Noise circles my camp - teeth bared, haunches raised. I toss the final Gallup poll onto the fire. Dawn approaches.

Teach a man to survey and he knows the race for a day. Teach a man to aggregate and there is no race.

Is the map contracting? Is the map expanding? I ask the tectonic plates for guidance. Their reply shall take one thousand years.

I carved tonight's projection on a sapling deep in the Rocky Mountains. He who finds it wins Colorado.

"Correlation is not causation," I tell the Narrative as the Redskins fall. Trailing anger and wrath, it flees in ontological terror.

This election is an epistemological watershed.

Florida is now our last toss-up state. I shall not rest until its dead-alive citizens are freed from their quantum hell.

Interview your nearest tree. Extrapolate the forest's views on Afghanistan from the answers you receive.

A pundit asks me for the state of the race. I chant Bayes' theorem until his writings crumble into dust. The Noise fades - for now.

A man boasts to me of Momentum, his greatest invention. "To victory," he cries, taking flight. I light a candle from the wax of his wings.