Doing Some Homework

Why do all my favorite posts I've made only have one note. I mean the one note is me because I'm a genius but tumblr, c'mon, they were throw away posts. They're, admittedly, also genius, but also not what I want people to like. Y'all wrong. Just fully incorrect. This is my professional opinion as the dictator of this blog and y'all are bad at this.

I'll have to make a record of this before I forget so,

Kintsugi - on March seventh, I came to an idea. Eventually, this idea was called Kintsugi, named after the Japanese art of putting broken pottery back together with gold. Which is the only way to describe the main idea of the story.

It follows a young man who uses a wheelchair (I've not developed this story well enough to know why), he's in college and has an adoration for pottery, of which he owns many pieces. But he feels like he's fallen into a nightmare of monotonous life, and endless cycle of class, sleep and commuting. One push, and then another, waiting for life to change. While sitting in class one day, a tardy student comes to sit next to (oh god wait I don't have names.. (we'll call them 1 and 2 stfu)) 1, who is strangely attracted to this carefree mess of a man. After sharing some missed notes with 2, 1 is introduced to a new way of see life. Become close friends, 2 teaches 1 to enjoy a crisp view of the world, one filling with unbridled love and optimism. This evolution is tackled delicately enough over the course of serveral chapters. Eventually, while hanging out one evening 1 discovers 2 was never everything 1 thought he was. There's no short way to write this scene without doing a great injustice. Basically 2 was only ever as you chose to see him, a prefect piece of porcelain, or Kintsugi.

Inspiration comes from basically anywhere, but sometimes I want something to occupy my mind as I live. So I make stories from small fragments of inspiration. Usually agitation, if I'm being honest. Sometimes they come from small bits of hope. Those are always my favorite.

Today I believe it was hope. Maybe optimistically, I want to believe it was hope.

You know what? I'm going to put commas and periods wherever I feel like a break or stop would be if I was saying this.

I bite my nails a lot but I found a solution, nail polish. Rather than biting my poor fucking nails my need for everything to be aesthetic gets the better of me and I don't do it

Jonathan Gleason was my friend who committed suicide just over a month ago… and I just found out that he wrote this 800+ page analysis textbook. By himself. Because he was teaching analysis and he was dissatisfied with the textbook he was assigned so he just…. wrote his own.

Even if you haven’t done any math… please just take a look at this. Scroll through it as fast as you like. It’s incredible that he put so much work and so much free time into this… I’m still in awe and I really want everyone to see it. In particular, if you want a good laugh, look at chapter 5 of the analysis textbook. The opening paragraph is SO Johnny.

He also wrote a linear algebra textbook, here. 

Ballin' but at what cost?

My fucking spine that's what

the perception of academics as all out-of-touch rich white cis straight men is also absolutely not limited to this website (which plays into it both from a dark academia perspective and from a more anti-elitist/verging on anti-intellectual perspective). it is also 100% a thing on actual college campuses, even when physically face to face with professors who are people of color, women, lgbtq, disabled, and very much plugged in to the workings of the world. there is a profound difficulty in seeing that the people who teach us are in many ways like us. 

my old pen (left) versus the pen my friend just gave me (right)

If you do happen to run across this post, my guiding tumblr voice, I hope you know that I know that you know who I am.

there's is a person on YouTube who's voice I know well. If I ever think something in their voice I know this a worthy post.

what if every Tumblr user suddenly looses their mouse?