Unorganized Thoughts; Equations Written All Over A Whiteboard; Black Coffee; Determination; Cigarette

Confession about Hozier

What does listening to Hozier feel like? Well, I doubt that I will be able incapsulate it in a way which accurately makes whoever is reading this feel something.

Such poetry, myth, history, and art are interwoven in his voice and lyrics.

What are words but creation of man? A creation of man so wonderful and cruel. A creation by which evokes such splendid passion or drowning melancholy. Hozier, balances the light and dark so beautifully resembling a Greek myth.

When I listen to Hozier, I visualize the first blushes of spring, dewy moss in a forest with tall trees, the strong addicting petrichor in the dawn, seaside cottage, first morning cup of tea with silky milk and sugar cubes, ripe ruby colored pomegranates awaiting to be eaten by Persephone, the turbulent agitated waves of the biting cold ocean, chilly zephyr whispering secrets into my ear, apples with pure honey, a large white bathtub sitting alone in a large bare room with walls the color of buttercream and decorated with gold panels dressing the walls with vestments, Hades dark robes covering Persephone’s glittering sheer periwinkle tunic, and with a gentle kiss, black cherries, the two opposing forces of nature interwined, time stopped, white orchids, dying embers of a fire, aged booked, sounds of breaking waves on the coastline, crunchy leaves, knit sweaters, crescent moon, Orion in the sky, Moscato rosé wine bringing warmth contrasting the gelid numbness on pink fingertips, long hair dancing with the Aura, and that is just a glimpse of what Hozier’s music makes me visualize.

-The Chemistry Academic

ALBERT EINSTEIN AND ACADEMIA

The Liberty of Doctrine—Á Propos of the Gumbel Case

ACADEMIC CHAIRS ARE MANY, but wise and noble teachers are few; lecture-rooms are numerous and large, but the number of young people who genuinely thirst after truth and justice is small. Nature scatters her common wares with a lavish hand, but the choice sort she produces but seldom.

We all know that, so why complain? Was it not ever thus and will it not ever thus remain? Certainly, and one must take what Nature gives as one finds it. But there is also such a thing as a spirit of the times, an attitude of mind characteristic of a particular generation, which is passed on from individual to individual and gives a society its particular tone. Each of us has to do his little bit towards transforming this spirit of the times.

Compare the spirit which animated the youth in our universities a hundred years ago with that prevailing to-day. They had faith in the amelioration of human society, respect for every honest opinion, the tolerance for which our classics had lived and fought. In those days men strove for a larger political unity, which at that time was called Germany. It was the students and the teachers at the universities who kept these ideals alive.

To-day also there is an urge towards social progress, towards tolerance and freedom of thought, towards a larger political unity, which we to-day call Europe. But the students at our universities have ceased as completely as their teachers to enshrine the hopes and ideals of the nation. Anyone who looks at our times coolly and dispassionately must admit this.

We are assembled to-day to take stock of ourselves. The external reason for this meeting is the Gumbel case. This apostle of justice has written about unexpiated political crimes with devoted industry, high courage, and exemplary fairness, and has done the community a signal service by his books. And this is the man whom the students, and a good many of the staff, of his university are to-day doing their best to expel.

Political passion cannot be allowed to go to such lengths. I am convinced that every man who reads Herr Gumbel’s books with an open mind will get the same impression from them as I have. Men like him are needed if we are ever to build up a healthy political society. Let every man judge according to his own standards, by what he has himself read, not by what others tell him. If that happens, this Gumbel case, after an unedifying beginning, may still do good.

Wow it’s scary how relatable this is

Chaotic academia (dark academia without the elegance):

Having one dusty record on the turntable that hasn't been touched in weeks.

Spare change shoved deep into pockets.

Rips in the lining of a wool coat.

Dyeing a shirt black to fit the occasion instead of getting a new shirt.

Listening to the same tape over and over and over.

Taking half an hour to get to the point of your anecdote.

Word vomit.

Bending a paperback in half when you read it.

Bobbing a foot up and down when you sit with your legs crossed.

Tea stains.

Tea rings on every surface.

Empty cups everywhere.

Plants that somehow manage to cling to life.

Piles of newspapers in the bathroom, kitchen, next to the sofa, everywhere.

Old light bulbs because new ones are bright white and inferior.

Being very passionate about many things at the same time.

Knowing a little bit about a lot of things.

Essentially being a glorified hoarder.

Snape?

Some pictures from today. The weather was absolutely beautiful; the sun, warm and felt rejuvenated even after my neuro exam.

It is gelid outside. I am drowsy from reading and making annotations for hours on end. My eyes are burning ever so slightly. There is an owl hooting outside my window. I am now in bed…drifting into a dreamless sleep.

Give a more iconic title for a book dedicated to your life, I’ll wait.

A Confession to the Astral Bodies

October 19th 3:25 am

I went downstairs to make a cuppa of Lady Grey. The moon illuminated my path down the stairs. The kitchen was lit with her silvery light. Candles were not needed at all. The white marble tiles were tinted with a silvery periwinkle hue. I made my way towards the windowpane after putting the kettle on. I leaned against the icy glass to look up at the heavens. The full moon looked majestic in all her regal vestments. She is hypnotizing tonight with the stars ever so bright. My eyes began to wander, and came to an abrupt halt upon spotting Orion's belt; the three distinguished flickering dots above me. Soon enough, I found some of my other friends: Sirius, Perseus, Lynx, and Gemini. Draco and Aries were out of reach tonight, probably navigating about the celestial sphere. But, we will meet again at the zenith of my universe when the conditions are right. I recall making my daily confessions to the constellations above. They would listen and provide me with the consolation and redemption I sought out for. The stars have seen me cry. The stars have seen me smile. And the stars have been my dearest companions. I woke up from my trance when I heard the kettle whistling. I took out a teabag from a viridian tin box and placed it in my beaker mug. As I poured the boiling hot water, the aroma of citrus and lavender filled the air around me. I then poured milk and stirred in a wee bit of sugar. I took a sip and the gelid numbness on my toes and fingertips subsided. The howling wind and the elegant rustling of leaves outside was the moon’s sirens call. I was once again in a trance and made my way towards the kitchen door of my humble seaside cottage leading into the veranda outside. The wind pierced through my skin and salty sea air filled my lungs. I felt truly and in every possible way, alive. My senses seemed to be enhanced by some mystic power. I looked up and let the moonlight penetrate my mind, body, and soul. All my woes dissipated at that serene moment. All that lingered on my mind was the moon’s sublime beauty and her scintillating stellar servants in the empyrean domain.

-A Chemistry Academic

H.A.

Ah I love this

Hamlet’s Vision by Pedro Américo (1893)

*me making my seventh tea / coffee of the day* maybe this little beverage will motivate me to finish my work