People comparing Armin and Erwin’s dream as to which one is less “selfish” need to realise they are both personal quests, they are both dreams of a young boy, one as human as the other. It isn’t right to claim only one of them is something personal and therefore selfish.
How is physical freedom the only one considered beneficial to humanity when knowledge is just as important? The truth has been locked away from humanity, kept out of sight and the people have been kept in the dark for decades. Knowledge is a freedom, the dream of truth ultimately benefits humanity, too.
I still don’t understand why all these cock sucking dumb bitches from my school are making blogs, like I don’t want you to fucking follow me anyway. -.- I didn’t even want to say this, but I really don’t give a fuck…
To be one of those people who studies life to its truth of being only what it is, where facts are only proven when the reason is science, I am deeply troubled of how it clashes with my fondness of a different reality where there is no explanation to anything as long as I believed in it, where poetry was enough and the theories didn’t matter as long as I believed every metaphor I wrote, where sense wasn’t made, it was asked to sit down in a chair and sip some coffee to rest.
Because science and art are two different realities, they are salt and pepper on dishes with different tastes. I cannot mix them together; they’d make a catastrophic milkshake for science wears the fabric of facts, and the world is only what it is as measured by the evidence of connections from where they came from. It is what it only is, and I find it a conflict of interest for they are entirely their own worlds.
Because it is hard to see that the sky wasn’t his silhouette of morning gladness, that it was merely made of elements mixed together so my lungs can breathe my heart to life, instead I see it as him, giving me the reason to gasp every wave that is caused to crash in a cycle of finding home in the shore of his eyes. It’s hard to not think that acceleration was my heart shooting up a 100 miles per hour when his name rolled my wheels to move forward, and the only friction was his hand blinking stoplight red whenever it found my skin, and all I wanted was for him to go do what he wanted with me. It was not easy to look up and not see the stars and his eyes were of the same origin, and the moon waned because it was shy for him and all it knew was to hide under the night hoping he’d notice that it was still there, waiting for a sign in the horizon on his shoulders. I cannot imagine the open sea and just see water in a big cup, instead it was his overflowing charm, it was his hair in different directions that met in a vector whenever he calmed it with his hand. It’s hard to not think of gravity as something that pushed me down, instead it was me finding the safest ground for my feet were us, lying beside each other and making our own gravity as we fell deeper with every I love you’s. It was not easy to believe the world was him when for me it is him; how history was written to the sound of his laughter, how every plant got his energy from his own sunlight, or my Mona Lisa smile showed my teeth, always reaching my eyes the way my hands always wanted to tangle in his. Every function that makes me an organism had the basic, building blocks of his smile. I saw theories become real and his mere existence proved it, and every metaphor was just what it is.
Because this was a parallel line, this was a joke that should never have been made since it was a big guffaw at logic’s humor. It’s hard to love poetry, and study science; in a room they were bumper cars at each other’s heads, yapping about their own truth in their sleeves they wore. Like star-crossed lovers, teenagers that fell in love and were too different. I’m finding it hard to love both, but I’m not saying it’s impossible.
I have a problem where I don't feel the need to do school work until it's almost due then I rush and I realize everytime that it would've been so much better to start early but I can't physically bring myself to do homework or study early, tips??
Do you have any tips on doing schoolwork early? I never seem to do my work until it’s almost due for some reason and then rush like ik it would be so much easier to do a little at once but I can’t seem to physically being myself to do it. Help!!
Both of these questions are pretty similar so I decided to answer them together.
You say that you cannot physically bring yourself to start your homework and so ask for tips to do so, but unfortunately I cannot offer any in this case because I cannot come through the computer and physically shove you in a chair and put a pencil in your hand and make your brain think for you to complete your homework – that’s something you have to do on your own. There is nothing else – no one else – that can physically bring you to do your homework except for one thing: you.
In the words of Shia LaBeouf, JUST DO IT. That’s all – that’s it – JUST DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OPEN YOUR BOOKS!!! PUT THAT PENCIL IN YOUR HAND!!!!!! JUST DO IT!!!!!!!!!!! When you think to yourself, “gosh, I should be doing my homework.” Then do it. You are the ruler of your own life and you are the only force and will that will bring you one step closer to completing your homework. I say this with all the love that I have – JUST DO IT!!! :-)
Now after you’ve decided that you’re going to do it and ensure that you continue forcing yourself to, here’s a few strategies I’ve come up with that might help that you can try:
Schedule your time & physically pen in a slot of time to work on homework/assignments. (This might not work for everyone.) If you’re one to use an agenda, you just might have to write in: 3:00-5:00PM: do homework.
Spend shorter amounts of time doing homework every day, but spread it out over a longer period of time. (i.e. a week) OR
Work on homework in long bursts (2-3+ hours at a time) and spread it out only over a day or two. But make sure you plan to do this well before it’s due (like, at least a day).
This all really depends on your study skills, how much time you have, if you like working under pressure or not, how long your assignment/homework is, etc., etc., so I’d say to really consider your own life and habits and set a reasonable goal for yourself to see what you can achieve or not. It all depends!
I hope this is perhaps somewhat helpful and gives you a little willpower to get started on your homework. You have power over your own life and if you say you can’t physically bring yourself to do so, then who is in control of that? You said it yourself: you. I.
Good luck with your homework & I’m sending you tons of love, okay! X
i hate fics written in first-person and i hate x Reader fics for pretty much the same reason
i don’t want that level of interaction with the fiction
also, like, being explicitly told ‘this character is you and no one else but you’ kinda takes the fun out of it
(Poem submitted for our Project Dhanak by @esn13 )
WHAT IS PAIN?
The only universal truth. A god in its form but not in its schemes: a wrecking. You facing the other direction while I am watching the back of your head move slowly but surely out of reach. Or an ax sunk deep to the bone.
Pain: a survival instinct. Suggesting danger, saying: Leave.
You with your hand pressed against my cheek.
HOW DO I KNOW PAIN?
We met once by chance and never parted.
HOW DO I KNOW LOVE?
We met once by chance and never parted.
IS LOVE A FORM OF PAIN?
In an undeniably perfect chronology of theatrics, yes. Undoubtedly: Yes.
IS IT POSSIBLE TO SEPARATE LOVE FROM PAIN?
Only in the quiet hours of the morning when one of us is awake and the other is still asleep. If it is I: then I can place my hand on your hand without anticipating a recoil. If it is You: then I am unaware of us and so– there is no pain and no love. Split like bad milk, they separate: pain and love. Sour water and mush. My belly grumbles as you place your ear against it.
WHAT IS LOVE WITHOUT THE BODY?
Love. Without the body.
WHAT IS THE BODY WITHOUT LOVE?
Less than animal: a small pulsing flesh-thing.
Without love, the body still eats, still shits, still fucks, still functions. And yet– it is no longer the body but a body. Yours or mine or not at all. It hardly makes a dent when hurled against the length of time.
Is this a romanticism, a poem with a rose clenched between its teeth? Love presented with baubles dangling from its ears and tinsel around its waist?
In short: no.
IS MEMORY NECESSARY FOR LOVE?
Hardly– but yes– but. If I forgot what it was to be touched by you I would still ache for it and if I forgot what it was to be sung to sleep by you I would still be unable to rest until I heard a voice with some semblance to yours. Memory, then, is not necessary. But this: a fore-knowledge.
Love begins before desire sets its roots in skin. I knew, with the entirety of me, that I would love and that it would be you that I love. I was born with this anxiety, then built in it, built of it.
I could forget you (the lobe of your ear, the cuts on your thighs) but I cannot forget love in the same way that I cannot forget hunger or thirst.
The question here is as futile as its answer, deflated before I even attempt to find a response.
WHAT IS A QUESTION?
A sentence, any sentence. There is no sentence that is not simultaneously a question. Language is an interrogation.
For example: Sentence: This is a chair. Meaning: Four legs one seat one back, a chair, not a chair, what, what is a chair? what is not a chair? why chair and not? when how who? what, what is, what is not?
WHAT, WHAT IS, WHAT IS NOT?
This I can answer only in touch.
An arm against an arm or a tongue against a tongue or a palm against anything else. Your hair in my fist or your mouth on my breast or my mouth on your breast or you– anywhere–
you, anywhere, bare or not: as long as you think Touch it is me that you touch, your skin stretches itself across oceans, invisible, until surely there is no distance between us.
Aditi Nagrath is a student of clinical psychology based in New Delhi, India. She likes to ask questions and answer them in poems. Her first collection of poetry, Beyond Survival, was published in 2015 by Condensed Matter Bindery & Press. She has also been published in various literary magazines, including Haverthorn, Cyberhex, and A Literation.
DHANAK is an ongoing project curated by and for LGBTQA youth and aims to chart their individual experiences of growing up in a metropolitan city.