#Fibonacci sequence for kids

[presswoodterryryan]

Become a Pattern Detective: Unlock Math Secrets!

By Alice Hi, friends! It’s me, Alice! And guess what? My big sister Ariel wrote another brilliant paper! This time, it’s all about patterns—not just the ones on your pajamas or my sparkly pink pants, but the kind that make math magical! 🔢✨ At first, I thought patterns were just something Mr. Fluffernutter made in the mud with his bunny paws, but Ariel showed me that patterns are EVERYWHERE—in…

[mediamime]

Supernatural and the Concept of Grace

Hi! It's your friendly neighborhood Media Mime and I'm here with a wall of text about my insane thoughts on how Angels work.

From the TV show Supernatural.

I don't know what I'm doing with my life.

---

These are headcanons, mind you, so they aren’t supported by the show. I just think way too much about stuff like this.

This all stems from how beings from a different plane of existence would be borderline incomprehensible to humans. The whole, true form and voice not being viewable/hearable led to me thinking about them in more abstract forms.

I’m going to give you some weird background stuff below, but feel free to skip to the end if you’re just here for the Grace mechanics and things.

*Edit: Making the lil click more bar because I realized I never did this and the Post Is Too Long.

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My day job is as a Math Adjunct, so you can imagine I have a bit of a fixation on recurring principles, formulas, geometry, and so on.

It’s my jam. 

Specifically, I have a focus on Mathematics in Nature. It's fascinating to me that we see the same shapes and patterns recurring over and over again in all natural formations.

I want to stress that to get into this kind of thing, you don’t actually need a background in Math. There are several resources online that provide examples and visual guides to this field of study. I’ve provided a visual guide below of some of my favorite phenomena as well as a basic (very basic) explanation of the principle. 

I ain’t getting paid for this right now, so you get what you get!

---

Now is also a time to mention that I took some psychedelics in my 20s that made me See Some Shit. This is not meant to be inspirational. I just think I should mention it because you see a lot of Stuff on them, not always Stuff you want to see. You can look up information about psychedelic geometry and skip the hassle of ingesting things you probably shouldn’t.

Don’t do drugs kids, or whatever.

---

The Fibonacci Sequence is where numbers ascend by adding the two previous numbers to itself. This plays a key role in something known as the Golden Spiral. For a very basic explanation, you take a square and draw an arc from one corner to the next and repeat with bigger and bigger squares.

1,

1 + 1 = 2,

1 + 2 = 3,

2 + 3 = 5,

3 + 5 = 8,

5 + 8 = 13,

and so on.

The curve itself is seen in the way plants grow, shells form, and weather formations to name a few. 

(The following are not my images, but they are readily available online. )

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Tessellations are repetitive polygons (shapes with 3 or more connecting lines, think triangles, squares, hexagons) that form together, without gaps.

In nature, the real world, there are examples of malformations, but Math is an explanation of the ideal principle.

We can see these structures in scales, honeycombs, and so on.

---

Fractals are where we see the same pattern repeat at smaller and smaller forms of itself.

There is a lot of overlap of this with the Fibonacci Sequence (these patterns often appear INSIDE of the spiral), but it is its own concept.

Fun fact, fractals play a significant role in Chaos Theory, which I will not get into here because we would be here all day.

---

Anyway!

Sorry!

Carried away there.

Back to Supernatural (what an insane transition) and how this wraps into my concept of Grace.

---

Angels are filled with this kind of naturally occurring phenomena, a sort of endless collection of patterns. They are essentially manifestations of this idea or at least they process the physical world in this way.

Castiel mentioned eating molecules ONE TIME and well, I ran with it.

---

A couple of examples I feel strongly about, using Castiel as an easier point of entry than say, Lucifer or Gabriel:

Angels think in a series of sensations, like a form of Synesthesia.  Synesthesia is a concept explored in both psychology and cognitive neuroscience where people express the feeling of multiple senses activating at once. So for instance, the words might leave you with an impression of color or sounds may give you a physical sensation. I think Angels can, and do, adopt a more human perspective the longer they interact in the physical world. This is especially relevant during the time they are essentially made human, but I think the way they interpret information remains abstract. Just a fun fact, if you have Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response (which is usually shortened to ASMR), you have a higher chance, according to some studies, of having a form of Synesthesia. 

---

Angels also think in patterns. For Castiel, in the beginning: His thoughts are very vibrant. Primary colors denote curiosity. The structure of those thoughts are very rigid. He thinks more in straight lines rather than curves. The movement of the thoughts is calculated and repetitive. Learning something for the first time is difficult, so splitting it into individual pieces is easier to comprehend. This is where we get The Face from, you know the one. He perceives things in his own way which makes him socially awkward in human form. As he gets more familiar with the physical world, and the boys in general, his perspective shifts. He has more robust colors dedicated to the people or objects he interacts with and they shift around easier. His thoughts are less linear and more curved and organic. He has less set structure because he isn’t learning as much anymore, he has an understanding he can build off of and make more defined to himself.  Learning to love humanity requires flexibility that doesn’t come naturally to Angels, so he actively works at it.

Seeing souls is easier than interpreting the actual look of people. This is a doozy, but we will take Dean as an example because I’m Destiel/Deancas pilled. To Castiel, Dean looks the way he looks, smells the way he smells, sounds the way he sounds, and so on in physical form. Castiel learns to interpret him in that way as the series goes on, but his soul, the essence of him, has its own set of sensations. The following are not literal, although I’m sure some would translate that way. He sounds like a crackle of fire and a low drum. His colors are darker oranges and blues and greens. He feels like a soft rain and sun on a warm day. He tastes of barrel aged liquor and smoke. He smells like a hearth and earth after it rains. He feels like every aspect of the impala, from the cold metal to the supple warm leather.  Obviously some of these senses shift and change from time to time, but that forms the basis of what Castiel recognizes as Dean.

---

Grace is at least partially visible to other angels and partially felt by humans. Other angels can see each other in their vessels. So they have a concept of what they look like in their true forms, despite being hidden inside of something.  This implies they can experience similar sensations as the other angels they look at, although I don’t like the idea that they can see their “thoughts” necessarily. I would imagine they can “feel” a sudden intense set of emotions/sensations from another angel however, in the way that humans can tell someone’s emotions through facial expression or tone of voice.

---

Humans can learn to experience angels, albeit in a form that is easier for them to comprehend.  Dean doesn’t experience anything special about Castiel when they first meet, outside of the generic information we get about Angels and the obvious senses he can use: seeing, hearing, smelling, (gods I wish tasting was on this list but! Alas!) As Dean gets closer with him, he can start to “hear” him. I like to think he sounds like a pleasant hum or a slight ringing, similar to a wind chime, depending on his mood. Dean, specifically, makes him hum lower than usual. If he were to hum out-loud, it would harmonize with the way his grace sounds. It takes longer to perceive colors, but I think Dean would see the little flashes of blue, similar to the way Castiel’s eyes get when he’s using his powers. This is why I typically put a little blue squiggle between them when I draw them together. Plus other senses, sorry but this is long enough as it is. You likely get the point by now!

---

Anyway, I’m very happy that literally anyone has even a passing interest in my interpretation of these things.

Formatting this was a nightmare and I feel particularly insane today.

[the-ate-show]

00:02

Jealousy’s a Green Eyed Monster

Wc: 4.3k

Her room was massive, at least twice yours.

Oh my god, 8 was on top. You could have picked it. Everyone marvelled at the space, the lavish decor, the money that increased by unfathomable amounts every minute. They chatted vaguely about how much they each made, but you were more fixated on the bathtub. The bathtub she no doubt showered in with your drinking water. As a kid, you'd always considered a fancy bathtub the height of luxury, and now you see it for what it is.

You were right.

Besides, how'd she even get it in there? You wouldn't have been able to move it on your own, and yet here she was. You reentered the physical realm as 6 told everyone he made 130,000 won a minute. He turned to you, and you replied,

“50,000 Won,” you nodded and 2 scoffed. Not at you, just at the prospect. You gave a sorry look, and people continued to say their amounts. 

7 said something about a fibonacci sequence, you remembered learning about that in school. Either way, you felt too sick to respond while he explained it to the group. After glancing at the meal kits, counting them and the empty water bottles, the group decided to continue downwards, inspecting each room. 

You walked by the side of 2 on the way down, tension filled the air. Between the mixture of jealousy at 8 and anger at the situation, neither of you could talk. The group reached 7’s room, and part of you didn’t want to enter, but that would be suspicious. You leaned against the wall.

A table. He bought a table. 

You tried not to laugh, what a dork. A table. Hope he bought a textbook as well, maybe a bedtime story to read before laying on his mattress- which mind you was on the floor. So, a table, and no bed frame. More noteworthy though, is the table had two chairs, one on either side. How curious, perhaps he'd made a friend. Now you feel stupid. You didn't make a friend.

As you all filed out of the room, you lingered at the stairwell for a moment, eyeing the huge timer that ticked away. It has increased again. You pushed off of the wall with a quiet whistle, only to be jerked back into 7’s room, cinematically hearing the door slam shut. Before you could scream, his hand pressed against your mouth, his other hand on his lips shushing you as he pushed you to the wall.

Hi, truly the only thought you could think of.

You kept your eyes trained on him, clearly, he had the upper hand here, but a little pretending never hurt anybody. He leaned in close to your ear, and you shivered.

“Can I trust you to be quiet?” meow. You rolled your eyes, and his hand pressed further on your mouth. You furrowed your eyebrows, mentally preparing to lick him.

“Let’s keep this quick, you and I, we can’t let anyone know about us.” he paused, as if waiting for you to reply. “Whatever we had is long gone okay? Let’s just try to be civil,” 

He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Weird, this was stressing him out. “Are we clear?” he dropped his hand hesitantly and you licked your lips, nodding while glancing at the door. He caught your jaw, gentle but demanding, pulling you back to meet his gaze, “Say it,”

“What?”

“Say you understand,”

…Dear lord. I can say a lot more than that beautiful. “Would saying it out loud change anything?”

“Please,”

Oh this is serious serious. “Yeah man, I understand, crystal clear,” he breathed a sigh of relief, mumbling ‘good, good.’ He dropped his hand, offering you a glance before standing up straight.

7 opened the door, gesturing for you to pass out first. You forced a smile, missing the warmth of his body against yours. Crap, about now was the time you’d go through old text conversations between you and him, reminding you of why you broke up in the first place. You smoothed your hair out, pausing at the top of the stairs, causing him to bump into you. He grabbed your arm and shot you a ‘why’d you stop?’ look before looking down the stairs. You looked between the eyes of the other people, raising a brow.

8 and 6 looked amused, the young lady in particular taking interest in you both. 5 and 1 avoided your gaze entirely. A small huff of air escaped 3, which earned him an elbow from 2. You glanced at 7, who ignored you to walk down the stairs. For a moment, the cogs in your head turned, and by the time you put two and two together, they'd moved onto the next room.

You descended the stairs with a guilty face, despite being innocent. It’s like when you walk out of a store without even buying anything. You entered 6’s room, too mortified to even speak, or observe anything beyond what meets the immediate eye. More stairs, then 5’s room. Because of these room tours, you now realise you really should've bought something. 

Finally at your room, you pull out the keycard and swipe it, pushing it open. At Least you had the foresight to fold up your bed sheet before you left your room that morning. You gave a very tragic jazz hands, which brought a smile to 3’s face. There wasn’t much to say. As they withdrew, you caught 7’s gaze. You’ve seen that look before.

. . .  

“Don’t laugh,” you warned, fishing your key out of your purse.

He half scoffed and half laughed, “I won’t!”

“Good, or else you’d hurt my feelings,” you turned around, pushing the key into the keyhole and struggling a bit with it. He stared at your keychain. It was one he got you, and he couldn't help but feel pride that you’d actually used it. 

The door groaned in annoyance when you opened it, and it was a bit of a struggle to do so. Yu walked in, his eyes tracing over the lousy space you called home.

“It’s cosy.”

“I hate you,”

“I didnt even-”

“Yeah but you thought about it!” you pouted, motioning for him to take off his shoes. He does, and you turn to greet your cat.

He was still working on removing his shoes, “For the record I wasn’t thinking about it.”

A hairless cat that frequented your building. When you first moved in, you found him a little strange, but now, snug as a bug in his hand knit sweater, the little worm grew on you. When you rescued him, you told your boyfriend all about the adorable cat you now have, and when you said ‘expensive breed’ he thought you'd refer to a persian, or a ragdoll, not a sphinx. You held the little boy in your hands, giving him a million kisses before turning to Yu.

“Meet-”

“What is that?” his face contorted into discomfort.

“My son. My pride and joy.”

“Babe, that is not a cat. A rat maybe,” you swatted his chest, and he snickered.

“Don’t listen to the mean man, he just hates beautiful things,” you cooed at the cat, nuzzling your nose into his head.

. . .  

Back then, it wasn’t apparent what he felt when he saw your apartment. Now it was. Pity. To him you were the helpless, hairless stray cat. You felt sick at the thought, and hurried past him. 

The next few rooms were nothing but a blur, but it was comforting knowing 3 had also bought the bare minimum of just literal newspapers. 

1’s room made you feel guilty for ever even being jealous of 8. This man could hardly stand, and could probably reach across either end of the room without moving from the middle. The sick people who made this game made it a hierarchy. But why? What’s the purpose?

Either way, 8 sent the meals down the chute, and everyone sat in a circle in 1’s room. It was almost familiar to be in this kind of setting. 

The food was mostly good, maybe adequate was a better word for it. You hesitate as another bite of food comes up to your lips, when you notice 3 down his meal without a singular breath. The man was hungry. Wordlessly, you slipped the rest of your portion into his bowl. You shook your head when he tried to decline. He ended up ducking his head in thanks, and succumbing to his hunger. 

You heard a quiet scoff, one you’d grown accustomed to, and your eyes snapped up, a wrinkle between your brows. You locked eyes with Yu-  7, and gave him a skeptical look.

What did I do wrong now?

He got up before you could say anything, or even shoot him a ‘what happened to not knowing each other' look, and sauntered off to smoke. Typical. TYPICAL.

3 got up shortly after to join him, and you leaned back on your palms, passing your tongue over your teeth. This was harder than you’d thought, to pretend you didn’t know him. To pretend you hadn’t spent the better part of two years learning about everything he is and everything he stood for. But there’s no warmth anymore, no familiarity. 7. 

Definitely not 8, that’s bottom of the barrel, last pick type of number. Whoever picked 7 must’ve been an equal idiot.

 You bit the inside of your cheek, maybe had you not torn to pieces this decision, you would’ve been at the top of the pyramid.

2 dusted her hand on her knees, getting up to help digestion, if you had to guess. She took a moment to stretch on the doorway before walking out. The peace was short lived, because her voice immediately echoed out.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” you sat up a little straighter, watching her with hawk eyes. “We only have fifteen minutes left!” 2 yelled. You and 1 sprung up, moving to see her.

The woman stood in a black bodycon dress that stopped mid thigh, with a weird poofy bit at the top. Her face wore designer sunglasses, and her feet a pair of high heels- no doubt costing a fortune. You all raced down the stairs, meeting her in front of the comm device, where she had a rack of clothing next to her, and that deceptively pure smile.

“Which one looks better?” 8 said with a shrug of a shoulder, holding a hanger up.

“Did you buy that… with time?” you asked, fingers twitching at your sides.

2, with more passion, “if you wanted to play dress up, you could've done it in your own room. Why buy it out here!”

8 gave a ‘isn’t it obvious?’ face and then spoke it a buttery soft voice, “If i did, I wouldn't have been able to wear it out here. I wanted to wear it out here.” 

The blonde woman’s eye twitched, “Do you have a death wish?” but before she could do what most probably would’ve been a crime, a male voice sounded.

“Don’t intimidate her. Talk it out,” 6 said, stalking over with his hands on his hips. 2 craned her neck over to look at him ever so slowly.

8, walking like you’d imagine a princess would, went over to just underneath the LED timer. “Is it because of this? We could always extend that thing, time.” she balanced on the edge of the fake pool.

7 followed her with his eyes, “And how would we do that?”

She looked at him for a moment, stay away, no wait, do whatever you want, she then giggled, bringing her shoulders up, “You guys seriously don’t know? You don’t know how to extend it?” she continued to giggle as she walked off, “It’s the stairs,”

3 swallowed, following her along with the rest of the group. “The stairs?”

“Yes! Time extends when we step on them,”

…what sort of alternate reality does this woman live in? And more importantly, can I get what she’s on?

“Do you have any proof?” 7 spoke, seemingly skeptical.

8 parroted his last word, pretending she forgot. 2 stormed forward, “Stop messing around and tell us.”

“Only if you apologize to me first,”

“What?”

“You were really mean earlier,”

“Over my dead-” 2 stormed forward but was very harshly pulled back by 6. You flinched, a quiet gasp coming out without your consent.

“Use your words,” 6 said, in a gravelly voice.

“What's your problem?” 2 growled and 6 yelled back again. 

“Whatever, I can’t lose like this,” you grumbled, dashing forward and towards the stairs, triggering a chain reaction of the others. 

For the remaining 11 minutes, you went up and down and up and down and up and down until up became down and down became up and you were sure you’d throw up. Finally, the timer hit 10 seconds, with seemingly no want to increase again. You leaned your head down, biting your tongue. 3 stood right next to you, and he stared with pure fear at the clock. You struggled to grapple with the reality of the situation. The red LEDs vanished, and between the groans and sighs, you felt tears well up in your eyes.

For once, once, you had the opportunity to be rich presented to you on a silver- no- gold platter, and some whiney princess had to come and pray it away from your shaking hands. It’s not fair. It’s not fair, it's not fair.

It's not FAIR.

A beacon of hope, the numbers two and four appeared, twenty four when put together. The collective cheers of relief rang, along with that little turd’s voice as she celebrated solving a problem she’d created. 3 collapsed onto the ground next to you, and you placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a breathless laugh.

“You okay?” you asked him with a smile, he nodded.

“I thought it was over,”

“You and me both,” you giggled.

So, stairs extend time. Of course it would be manual labour out of all things. You groaned loudly to yourself, kicking the folded bed sheets in your room. You collided with the ground, covering your eyes with your palms.

The next morning everyone got up bright and early, with each person assigned 7 touches of 8th floor sign, you were prepared to suffer. You stretched your legs lightly, glancing back at the time. Then, with the cue from 7, everyone bolted to the stairs. You decided to jog, as running would burn you out pretty quickly. Sure enough, people started to slow down by the 3rd flight of stairs, while you were still going strong.At the end of the day, you all piled into 1’s room, eating together in silence.

The days blurred into each other, with minimal conversation, and the same boring routine. Until.

“I feel like I haven’t eaten anything,” 3 sighed, leaning back. 

“Here,” you slid your plate to him, he almost took it but 2 gave him a look and he hesitated. “Seriously, I’m good,”

That was a lie, but c'mon, you felt bad. 

3 hesitated again, looking at 2, who continued to glare at him. 6 used the opportunity and took the plate for himself. 

“Hey-“ 3 started, but 6 had practically inhaled the rest of it. Fatty.

“What? You weren’t gonna take it and she didn’t want it,” 6 shrugged, licking his lips. 2 looked at you with annoyance, then back to 6, “She would’ve eaten it had 3 told her no firmly,”

“It’s okay,” you diffused the argument before it spiraled further, “Wouldn’t have offered if I still wanted it, don’t worry about me 2,” you said to her softly, and she gave you a scoff.

“This isn’t sustainable,” 6 said, looking at the food, “we should split into teams, so on the day people are working they’d get more food,”

That actually… was not a bad idea.

So, the next day, you stood in two equal rows of people, ready to be divided.

Team A: 8, 6, 4, 2- the evens.

Team B: 7, 5, 3, 1- the odds.

“I want to switch teams,” 2 said before anything could take place. “We don’t get along,” she casted you the look, but it was clear it wasn’t intended to be for you.

3 avoided the gaze of the team, 5 would’ve gained nothing from moving…leaving-

“I’ll switch,” 1 smiled, moving to your side.

Team A: 8, 6, 4, 1. 

And thus commenced day one, where you and your team members gave it your all. Towards the middle, you stumbled upon 1 sat down, and 6 talking to him. He was taking a break on the stairs, and 6 offered to help him up. How noble. Just as they locked hands, 6 seemed to crush 1’s, evident by his groans and gasps for it to stop. You covered your mouth, team B appearing seemingly out of nowhere behind you. As 6 finally let go, he turned to see you all stood. 2 walked up, bumping into him on purpose after offering to take 1’s shift. He tried to decline but she’d already vanished. You jogged up the stairs, crouching in front of 1 and taking his hand in yours,

“Does it still hurt? Did he break it?” 1 timidly shook his head, and you helped him back up to his feet. 6 chuckled, staring you down. He had that surly look on his face, with that nauseating smirk. He was almost daring you to go against him, to challenge him.  You couldn’t take him up on that offer, this was way too deep in shark infested waters.

And then the cycle continues. Monotonous days of running with little to no rewards. Well, that was mostly your fault, buying anything felt almost trivial.

Until one day the chute pinged, and you stretched uncomfortably as you opened it, the stench making you stumble backwards.

“What the-?” you coughed, covering your nose with your shirt. crap. literally. A knock resonated at your door. You got up and opened the door, 2

She leaned on your doorway, a bored look on her face. You did not drop your shirt from your nose, “They just sent me… their feces,” 2 laughed at your choice of words.

“Feces… miss proper,” 2 walked past you into your room, leaving the door ajar, sliding the chute shut and sending it down, then turning to you, “1 was feeling guilty for not really running, so he offered to take everyone’s waste bags.”

“But his room is tiny,” you said, crossing your arms. “Where would he even sleep?” 2 shrugged.

“I can’t consciously send mine down there,” she replied.

“Me neither, not that you even gave me the option to,” you giggled as you gestured to the closed chute, she looked sheepish.

You cracked your knuckles awkwardly, and she sighed. “I didn’t mean it earlier,”

“Hm?”

“About not getting along. You’re okay 4,”

A shy smile tugged on your lips, and you nodded, “You’re not too bad yourself,”

Her eyes wandered down, and then a grin spread on her face. She grabbed your arm, bringing it up to inspect, pushing your sleeve upwards.

“Cute,” 2 referred to the dainty heart tattoo on your forearm. “Didn’t see you as the type to get ink,”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Trust me I'm not. My friend was very persuasive, we both got one,”

She snorted, dropping your arm, “Bad idea to get matching ones,”

“Yeah lesson learned,”

“You guys had a falling out?”

. . .  

“When i meant spontaneous i didn’t mean stick and pokes,” you winced as it pinched your skin again, sat uncomfortably on Yu’s bed.

He remained focused on the design, “This is peak spontaneity,”

“Spontaneous people don't use words like th-OW,”

. . .  

… “You could say that,”

You paused for a moment, “Are you inked?”

She smiled, nodding and rolling up her sleeve to show the ones on her forearm. She then turned around, pulling off her top to show a yin yang koi fish on her shoulder blade. You marveled at it, tracing your hands on the ink.

“Yours is so well done,”

“No offence, yours isn't,” she laughed, and you flicked her lightly.

“What’s this one mean?” you asked for the millionth time it seemed like, listening to the cool stories she shared that gave you more and more puzzle pieces.

You stepped back, and she turned to face you again, showing you more tattoos, on her bicep, on her collarbone, and side, giving you the winded tale of each. In the distance, you could hear 6 talking to 8.

“What a creep,” you mumbled, stepping back to lean against the wall, she rolled her shoulders.

“Tell me about it, him and 8 will appear in my nightmares,” she rolled her eyes and you snickered.

“Reminds me of the type of men to mansplain everything,”

She raised a playful eyebrow, “Have you ever had pool mansplained to you?”

You tilted your head back against the wall, “I don’t think so,”

She smirked, “Allow me then,” she pulled you off of the wall, and put you into position for imaginary pool, talking in a false husky voice that reminded you all too well of late nights and sleazy men.

You snorted, “Like this?” you fake hit it, and she made a show of whispering loud enough, “Atta girl.” which caused you to quietly scream in mortification, which caused her to also laugh, dropping her head against your bent body.

Just then, a fast knock and the swinging of the door brought your attention up.

You were all frozen in time for a moment, 3 and 7 stood at the door looking like they’ve just seen a ghost, and 2 bending you over with her shirt off.

This looked so bad. 

The sound of money being added lit the fuse of chaos, and 3 immediately flustered, tripping over his words and turning around to cover his eyes. You squeaked, shoving 2’s shirt into her hands to cover her, and standing in front of her. 7 stared at his shoes and closed the door.

You turned to 2 with a horrified expression, but her’s seemed less shocked. Almost… amused.

“Are you okay?”

“They’re such idiots,” she slipped the white shirt back on, and you embarrassedly passed her the jacket. You opened the door to find them both still there, 7 leaned against the railing, and 3 sat on one of the steps with his head in his hands.

The latter jumped to his feet, apologising profusely to 2, who gave him a pat on the back and walked away, but not before turning to you and winking with a ‘call me’ gesture, causing both 3 and 7 to whip their heads around to look at you.

Traitor.

You met 7’s gaze, then the ground seemed more enticing. Although in hindsight, you just seemed more guilty.

“We’re about to start laps.” 7 said with an emotionless voice. You nodded.

“Kay, thanks,” you walked down a few paces faster, not missing the quiet whisper of 3 going ‘What just happened?’.

The shift went as it always did, ascend descend, up and down, rise and fall, breathe in and out. 

By nightfall, you all stared blankly at the not increasing timer. This was odd, all that running for nothing? But after a few complaints, the seemingly sentient machine pulled itself together, and more time was added.

You decided to dine inside your room this time, too humiliated to face the music. You took a few bites of the rice, then a sip of water. Then you decided to leave the rest of the meal kit for tomorrow morning, with no 3 nearby to share it with, you could just have it for breakfast. Neatly tucked in a corner, you laid down on the bed sheets again. You really ought to buy a nicer stay.

You woke up with renewed passion for living, downing the meal and rushing to join them in the circle. By the time you stood to stretch, you felt your eyes grow bleary, and the air struggled to rush into your system. You groaned quietly, the world fading into background noise as you put your hands on your knees, trying to calm your rapid fire heart.

Your skin felt like it was on fire, your airways constricted and your head feeling far too light for good. Your legs wobbled, giving out underneath you and you continued to struggle for air.

“She’s having an all-” 7 started but was cut off by 5.

“She’s going into anaphylactic shock! She needs an epipen!”

2 was the one to sprint towards the intercom, and you could vaguely make out 6’s resistance to her before the world faded to black.

–

With a soft groan, you found yourself stirring again. Your head was pounding, your body felt frigid and it was far too hot in here. The memories of what transpired hit you like a train, and you sat up so fast. A mistake, truly, as your eyes struggled to grapple with the sudden change, you had to push the bile down.

“Lay back down 4,” 5’s soothing voice said, cupping the back of your head. But you didn’t listen “You were in shock,”

“I know,” you replied, voice quiet and meek. You tilted your head back, swallowing thickly. “My bad, wasn’t paying attention to what I was eating,”

“You scared me half to death,” 5 pouted, swatting your thigh in a motherly fashion, which elicited a few giggles from all around.

“Aw I’m sorry, I’m sure it was quite the show,” you said, feeling embarrassment well up. "It was,” 6 said, and he pointed at the timer, which read ‘forty hours'. "Brainy came to an epiphany. They want entertainment,”

AN: there's more interesting stuff going on in the next chapter TRUSTT

Taglist: @entr4p3

[ban-styles]

I’M BACK! with a little intel and a lot of projection.

who listens to what? let’s see

JIMMY

so, i didn’t have many idea for him believe it or not,

but i believe he honestly just listens to whatever’s on the radio or whatever anyone puts on.

he’s pretty indifferent about music, he normally blocks out background noise anyway

but for a bit more of an answer, i feel like he’d maybe listen to that classic rap stuff, like pac, snoop, icecube.. eminem

he probably only picked up eminem because he kept getting compared to the guy. poor jimjim

also, my gut tells me he dabbles in a bit of numetal, moreso the rap side of things; the biggest example i can name for you is limp bizkit, but he’d slither his way into the lesser known stuff, like primer 55, snot, saliva, 311.. so so

but mainly whatever’s popular at the time.

oh, jesus, how could i forget punk? this guy’s all over the dead kennedys, the stooges, sex pistols. yeah! maybe stand alone Iggy Pop too.

GARY

so.. my heart tells me he would listen to nightcore, just straight away.. the rise of nightcore, what a time

he’d be totally embarrassed about it though, but it makes him feel cool.

now for my more thought out ideas,

i /personally/ think he would be really into nine inch nails, more specifically pretty hate machine

i feel like the music swoons this kid’s adhd, anything that really plays into his ‘evil’ demeanour.. whatever fuels him to continue writing plans to take over the school

not to be stereotypical, but also kmfdm, as much as i hate to admit it.

again, very motivational music. i feel like he’d be into industrial rock/metal all together

he’d be one of those guys who insist on hating the mainstream too, but would occasionally find himself attached to the odd cheesy pop song you’d /also/ find on radio

PETEY

rubs my evil fly hands together

here’s where i start projecting

so, petey is EXTREMELY big into music, but it’s something he’s quite embarrassed about.

when you ask him about it? he gets shy and just says he listens to whatever, that he doesn’t really care.

but he likes to listen intellectual’ stuff.

first up: tool. this kid is crazy about tool. he can’t get enough of it.

owns and has listened to every album and ep of theirs, knows every song off by heart,, has researched the band’s many smart ways of producing the music; the fibonacci sequence in lateralus, the whole concept of parabol(a), everything about the newly released 10000 days.. he can’t leave rosetta stoned alone, so much to look into

again; absolutely insane about the band, and is itching to tell someone all about it, but his confidence really nails him down.

i also imagine he’s quite a big fan of MJK’s other works - puscifer and a perfect circle.

that being said, he’s also a big fan of thirteenth step by apc.

i feel like mjk’s feature on white pony’s “passenger” would have also swindled his interest in deftones. he started off by listening to white pony, but found himself to enjoy deftones’ self titled, too

to say he was a music nerd could be a descriptor. he definitely knows his way around the niche, and is always looking at more stuff to listen to. you’d find him pondering at the cd racks in your local shop

‘i like the album art’ he says, ‘that’s why im taking so long’.

i believe it’s what makes him feel a little better about being a complete loner. nobody to hang out with? tool will sing you to sleep, petey, you don’t need much else

tldr; if you start talkin music, he’ll speak your language. he knows the entire spectrum

for some extra, i believe he enjoys some old jazz too. duke ellington and john coltrane ..

and to finish, he dabbles in michael jackson if he needs a break from the evocative emotion tool brings

peacceeee….. my music loving self might come up with stuff for more of the students.

[xsommeee]

BEAST SKK HEAD CANON~~

Dazai's room is an exact replica of what Mori had in his. Nothing touched everso slightly, he rarely sleeps at night, sits glued to a chair in the corner and states in the dark. Talking to himself at various moments, arguing passionately against tall red drapes. In a Victorian era styled rooms with bedded pillars and purple soft carpet floors. Multiple grim artworks hung on the walls with heavy embellished frames.

If you asked Dazai what the model number written under the gun of a goon who walked past him this morning, he'd tell you with absolute certainty. However he had no idea about the bedding in his room, or the couch, he didn't even know the curtains were red. He simply never looked at them, he only saw the high void like ceiling.

“Comment était votre petit voyage?” Dazai remarked without moving. The room was completely silent before this, a normal person will say there wasn't a person there either.

“Il n’y a jamais de voyage.”

“Then where were you this whole week? Trying on better dog collars?” Dazai says glaring at the other. There was light illuminating a scowling slime face.

Chuuya Nakahara was missing from the Port Mafia quarters, the second in command had performed none of his duties for over two weeks “I need to talk to you, with sincerity” Chuuya breathes in “You- you delivered a box filled with over 200 hearts to the place I was in today.” Chuuya crosses his arms, visibly uncomfortable.

“Two hundred and thirty three for the fourteenth day of you not coming back. The Fibonacci sequence you know, I recognise your love for math and physics.” A horrific grin plastered on Dazai. Chuuya opens his mouth but falls short of words only to get interrupted.

“You wanted to avoid this outcome? I had warned you, Chuuya. You could have filed a leave application instead of disappearing, why didn't you? Did you really think I was bluffing?” “Bastard!” Chuuya grits, “you knew where I was!”

“Yes, and that doesn't excuse your absence.” Dark eyes cut into crystal blue ones. There's a surge of pain in the latter.

“Dazai,” Chuuya walks towards him half bowed with a desperation and uncomeliness he'd never felt. Wildly gesticulating every word and eyes blown wide. He screams, abuses and cries all through the same words and speaks without breathing. “I’ve had nothing, nothing to do for more than six months. I know batshit about whatever you're doing, hell that white hair kid who's been here two days knows more than I. A shitty goon with no use but to die first is more useful than me. Hell Dazai I’d fucking go out there not use my powers and fight like that recruit. But all, all that I do is come to this goddamn building and sit in an office she used to sit in. Watching people I used to know and respect deride me. Spit on me for the traitor I am! You wanted revenge over me not supporting your accession.”

Chuuya fists Dazai’s shirts shaking him with his own trembling body, “You’ve had it. I don't think you could have more. I'd say whatever you want, do whatever you say. Just- just let me peace, some peace. Stop torturing me like this. Like you’re unaware, behaving like this is alright, I’m tired. I’m sick. I’m already crazy! There's nothing left, nothing, nothing, nothing!”

Dazai had gotten up during this tirade, holding the hand fisted in his shirt, rubbing Chuuya's back soothingly with the other. By the end of it a heavy silence ensued. Dazai stared at his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

He started speaking calmly as if Chuuya was upset after seeing a rat get run over by a car. “Shh, don't be like this. Walls have ears, if someone heard chibi right now, you want something to do that's all? If that's it, I want you as my bodyguard. I had proposed it multiple times. You don't need to go anywhere, not the office or meetings, just stay.”

“Stay with you?” Chuuya murmurs under his breath. Dazai moves in closer, pushing Chuuya into his chest, trapping him with his arms. A dark room with two figures towered inward, they're two worlds colliding, obliterating each other.

From an outsider's perspective the Port Mafia's boss and his second in command are such dynamically different people. A different species altogether Osamu Dazai with his cold antipathic gaze, he can scare people with his mere presence in a room silent, still and unfeeling. There is anger in him too, unlike what appearance states, but it is reasonable and calculated, a white freezing fire. Chuuya Nakahara on the other hand is scalding hot, even to Dazai, burning himself from within like an amber ignited orange and red. He is simplehearted and straightforward to most, nevertheless complexities lay buried deep within him, in their presence he begins to think of everything as an act, a heinous disgusting lie. Dazai pokes that part of him, a place where they align the most perfectly in his eyes.

Dazai smashes his lips over Chuuya's, holding his nape in his hand to bend him up. The energy that possesses him while doing this however leaves him instantly, he backs just a little but their lips still touch, feeling each other's breaths fan over.

A few tense moments pass like that. Dazai stirs first, he knows the reason why Chuuya wants to leave. He moves backwards with such slowness as if moving away is excruciatingly painful. Chuuya doesn't let him move too much though, kissing Dazai full and tender, breaking it at times to look into his dilated eyes as if to read some unknown secret. Dazai holds him tighter than a drowning man stuck in a storm with only a log to float.

Read the rest here? Idk I really like this fic, like really I hope people read it, I'd write like one chapter more :

[aaknopf]

Martyr!, the poet Kaveh Akbar’s propulsive debut novel, tells the tale of Cyrus Shams, the son of a lost mother (victim of a 1988 U. S. Naval snafu in the Persian Gulf that killed 290 people on a commercial airliner) and the long-suffering father who emigrated to Fort Wayne, IN with his baby boy. We meet Cyrus as a student of poetry at Keady University and a reformed addict. In this excerpt, he’s at the local open mic with his friends; we also share one of the poems from Cyrus’s bookofmartyrs.docx, helpfully supplied by Akbar, the poet behind the fictional poet.

. .

The Naples Tuesday night open mic had become a mainstay of Cyrus and Zee’s friendship. It was a small affair, not much to distinguish it from the myriad other open mics happening elsewhere in the country—except this was their open mic, their organic community of beautiful weirdos—old hippies singing Pete Seeger, trans kids rapping about liberation, passionate spoken-word performances by nurses and teenagers and teachers and cooks. As with any campus open mic, there was the occasional frat dude coming to play sets of smirky acoustic rap covers and overearnest breakup narratives. But even they were welcome, and mostly it felt like a safe little oasis of amongness in the relative desert of their Indiana college town, a healthy way to spend the time they were no longer using to get drunk or high.   Naturally, Naples didn’t have its own sound equipment, so Zee would usually show up fifteen minutes early with his beat-up Yamaha PA to set up for Sad James, who hosted every week. Sad James was called this to distinguish him from DJ James, a guy who cycled nightly through the campus bars. DJ James was not a particularly interesting artist, but he was well-known enough in the campus community to warrant Sad James’s nominative prefix, which began as a joke but somehow stuck, and to which Sad James had grown accustomed with good humor, even occasionally doing small shows under the name. Sad James was a quiet white guy, long blond hair framing his lightly stubbled face, who played intensely solemn electronic songs, punctuated by sparse circuit-bent blips and bloops, and over time at Keady, he had become one of Zee and Cyrus’s most resilient and trusted friends.   On this night, Cyrus had read a poem early, an older experimental piece from a series where he’d been assigning words to each digit 0–9, then using an Excel document to generate a lyric out of those words as the digits appeared in the Fibonacci sequence: “lips sweat teeth lips spread teeth lips drip deep deep sweat skin,” etc. It was bad, but he loved reading them out loud, the rhythms and repeti­tions and weird little riffs that emerged. Sad James did an older piece where the lyrics “burning with the human stain / she dries up, dust in the rain” were repeated and modulated over molten beeps from an old circuit-bent Game Boy. Zee—a drummer in his free time who idolized J Dilla and John Bonham and Max Roach and Zach Hill in equal measure—hadn’t brought anything of his own to perform that evening, but did have a little bongo to help accompany any acoustic acts who wanted it.   On the patio listening to Cyrus talk about his new project, Zee said, “I could see it being a bunch of different poems in the voices of all your different historical martyr obsessions?” Then to Sad James, Zee added, “Cyrus has been plastering our apartment with these big black-and-white printouts of all their terrifying faces. Bobby Sands in our kitchen, Joan of Arc in our hallway.”   Sad James made his eyes get big.   “I just like having them present,” Cyrus said, slumping into his chair. He didn’t add that he’d been reading about them in the library, his mystic martyrs, that he’d taped a great grid of their grayscale printed faces above his bed, half believing it would work like those tapes that promised to teach you Spanish while you slept, that some­how their lived wisdoms would pass into him as he dreamt. Among the Tank Man, Bobby Sands, Falconetti as Joan of Arc, Cyrus had a picture of his parents’ wedding day. His mother, seated in a sleeved white dress, smiling tightly at the camera while his father, in a tacky gray tux, sat grinning next to her holding her hand. Above their heads, a group of attendees held an ornate white sheet. It was the only picture of his mother he had. Next to his mother, his father beamed, bright in a way that made it seem he was radiating the light himself.   Zee went on: “So you could write a poem where Joan of Arc is like, ‘Wow, this fire is so hot’ or whatever. And then a poem where Hussain is like, ‘Wow, sucks that I wouldn’t kneel.’ You know what I mean?”   Cyrus laughed.   “I tried some of that! But see, that’s where it gets corny. What could I possibly say about the martyrdom of Hussain or Joan of Arc or whoever that hasn’t already been said? Or that’s worth saying?”   Sad James asked who Hussain was and Zee quickly explained the trial in the desert, Hussain’s refusing to kneel and being killed for it.   “You know, Hussain’s head is supposedly still buried in Cairo?” Zee said, smiling. “Cairo, which is in which country again?”   Cyrus rolled his eyes at his friend, who was, as Cyrus liked to remind him when he got too greatest-ancient-civilization-on-earth about things, only half Egyptian.   “Damn,” Sad James said. “I would’ve just kneeled and crossed my fingers behind my back. Who am I trying to impress? Later I could call take-backsies. I’d just say I tripped and landed on my knees or something.”   The three friends laughed. Justine, an open mic regular whose Blonde on Blonde–era pea-coat-and-harmonica-rack Bob Dylan act was a mainstay of the open mic, came outside to ask Zee for a cigarette. He obliged her with an American Spirit Yellow, which she lit around the corner as she began speaking into her cell phone.   In moments like these Cyrus still sometimes felt like asking to bum one too—he’d been a pack-and-a-half-a-day smoker before he got sober, and continued his habit even after he’d kicked everything else. “Quit things in the order they’re killing you,” his sponsor, Gabe, told him once. After a year clean he turned his attention to cigarettes, which he finally managed to kick completely by tapering: from one and a half packs a day to a pack to half a pack to five cigarettes and so on until he was just smoking a single cigarette every few days and then, none at all. He could probably get away with bumming the occasional cigarette now and again, but in his mind he was saving that for something momentous: his final moments lying in the grass dying from a gunshot wound, or walking in slow motion away from a burning building.   “So what are you thinking then? A novel? Or like . . . a poetic mar­tyr field guide?” asked Zee.   “I’m really not sure yet. But my whole life I’ve thought about my mom on that flight, how meaningless her death was. Truly literally like, meaningless. Without meaning. The difference between 290 dead and 289. It’s actuarial. Not even tragic, you know? So was she a martyr? There has to be a definition of the word that can accom­modate her. That’s what I’m after.”

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar.

Browse Kaveh Akbar's poetry collections and follow Kaveh on Instagram @kavehakbar.kavehakbar.

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[wearenotasfarwest]

Super underrated moments from the Change the WorLd movie in no particular order:

Ryuk telling L even if he burns the Death Note his fate can’t be changed and then immediately trying to get him to use the death note to speedrun becoming a god

“I’ve never babysat before, and so far… it’s not going very well.”

L trading potato chips for a necklace with a young boy who then just shoves them into his mouth with both hands with a surprising ferocity

L using a keyboard exactly how you would expect him to type and the movie asking us to believe it’s effective

A way too long shot of L, Mako, and the young boy with L and Mako on bikes and the young boy sitting in a basket on L’s bike looking like this

L’s back audibly cracking when he stands up straight, cheered on by the kids

There being two lines total that matched the subtitles, and the subtitles just entirely vanishing for entire swathes of the movie

Naomi walking into a building, gunshots immediately being heard, and then walking back out with no additional information provided about that scene

The guy saying “I’M AN FBI AGENT, LET ME THROUGH” and showing his badge and a random street vendor replying “Yeah, well I’m a CIA agent! You’re not FBI, you’re JAPANESE!”

The way F said the dialogue “This JAPANESE man is an extremist”

The FBI agent actually using the crepe truck to make himself a crepe which he then holds like L to eat

The young boy having like two lines of dialogue total, both being just screaming a sequence of numbers at the top of his lungs even after he’s told to stop

Him laying out sugar cubes in the Fibonacci sequence but every time he sets out down, L eats one

Them determining that the reason the virus isn’t affecting Mako is her blood sugar is too low and then immediately cutting to them having a whole spread of sweets

Mako seeing something on her back and thinking she’s displaying symptoms and when she tells the adults, L immediately picks up the boy, who they already know is genetically immune, and puts him in closet. Even when they determine it’s just a tick bite, nobody lets him out of the closet.

L Naruto running

Mako saying something depressing and L immediately grabbing the back of her neck and it reads like an attempt at comfort but you later learn he was taking her temperature and did it like that instead of her forehead for God only knows why

Mako bringing a box cutter to a gun fight

The fact that it’s counting down but randomly skips several days at a time without telling us what they were doing for those two days more than once

L suddenly being able to pilot a plane (albeit not well) and everyone in the terminal waiting until the last possible second to run

Knife girl, who wore several white dresses, and never seemed to get blood on them

[release-your-sweets]

Criminal Minds episodes I rewatch the most (Seasons 1-5)

Season 1

1x01 Extreme Aggressor

1x05 Broken Mirror (Highlight: Gideon sharing his orange)

1x06 L.D.S.K. (Highlight: Reid's gun plot)

1x09 Derailed (Highlight: Spencer Reid)

1x10 The Popular Kids

1x18 Somebody's Watching (Highlight: Spencer Reid)

1x22 The Fisher King Part 1

Season 2

2x01 The Fisher King Part 2 (Highlight: Spencer Reid)

2x02 P911

2x06 The Boogeyman (Highlights: The fear conversation, the plot twist)

2x08 The Empty Planet (Highlight: Derek Morgan)

2x09 The Last Word (Highlight: How they catch the unsubs are so funny)

2x11 Sex, Birth, Death (Highlight: Anton Yelchin)

2x12 Profiler, Profiled (Highlight: Derek Morgan)

2x18 Jones (Highlights: William Lamontagne Jr., Ethan)

Season 3

3x03 Scared to Death (Highlight: Elevator scene)

3x05 Seven Seconds (This whole episode is just good)

3x13 Limelight

3x14 Damaged (Highlights: David Rossi, Spencer Reid)

3x16 Elephant's Memory (Highlight: Spencer Reid)

3x17 In Heat (Highlight: JJ and Will)

3x18 The Crossing (Both cases are super interesting to me)

3x19 Tabula Rasa

Season 4

4x02 The Angel Maker (Highlight: "He's so lifelike")

4x03 Minimal Loss

4x07 Memoriam

4x08 Masterpiece (Highlight: the Fibonacci sequence)

4x09 52 Pickup (Highlights: Emily Prentiss, Magic)

4x11 Normal

4x12 Soul Mates

4x16 Pleasure is My Business (Highlights: Megan Kane, "How am I a whore?"

4x20 Conflicted

4x21 A Shade of Gray (Highlight: The plot twist)

4x22 The Big Wheel

4x24 Amplification

Season 5

5x01 Nameless, Faceless (Highlight: The way they had MGG sitting the whole episode)

5x02 Haunted

5x03 Reckoner

5x07 The Performer (Highlight: Twilight)

5x11 Retaliation

5x12 The Uncanny Valley (Highlight: Spencer Reid)

5x13 Risky Business (Highlights: Penelope Garcia, The Star Puzzle)

5x14 Parasite

5x15 Public Enemy

5x19 A Rite of Passage

5x20 ...A Thousand Words

5x22 The Internet is Forever (Highlight: Boyband hair)

[disco-orange]

More odd squad headcanons !!!!!!

Oscar works as a part-time detective for the other scientists on slow days.

Todd is just really strong???? He's just like that.

Todd thinks he's really strong because he used to blast himself with gadgets for fun.

Oren eats a Lot of mac n cheese.

If Olive can't brush her teeth three times a day she can't do any work for the rest of the day.

Otto cuts his own hair.

Todd's hair currently grows on its own with the white stripe, but his eyebrow is not natural.

Olive knows multiple dead languages.

Olive and Otto do LARPing together. Same with Oren and Olaf.

Oscar eats his fingers.

Omar is a theater kid.

Orla gets a girlfriend who is very tech-savvy and has a long convoluted name.

Otto thought Olive was saying "gopher Olive" for a long time and she had to explain otherwise.

Olive knows the first 200 digits in the Fibonacci sequence.

Todd is a licensed DBT therapist along with a gardner.

The only video game Orla can play is Tennis For Two. She's exceedingly good at it.

Todd learned most of the Canadian legal system in a dream.

Dinosaur hands Oona.

Olympia makes Otis take The Bits™️ off of her orange slices.

[schmilsson]

this is distinctly a Me Problem again bc most kids didnt have this but i just found a maths book for kids i mustve been like 6 or 7 when i first read and some of the stuff in here my maths teacher THIS YEAR spent several minutes explaining. like the fucking rice grain chessboard story or the concept of the fibonacci sequence... i think i mightve just traced back to the origin of my complete inability to judge whats common maths knowledge or not

[1141520851813892291920]

This is very tricky to type this without it just giving me errors each time it tries to send.

So we'll start somewhere.. mundane?

Do you remember the first time you had a headache? The first time you met a beloved pet? The first time you had your favorite food?

Some of these moments impact people differently, but it's not all that unusual to forget. Let's go deeper.

Do remember the first time you felt loved? The first time you felt grief? Do you remember the eyes of the one you lost? The shape of their smile?

Upsetting, but the only constant in life is change. It is natural to lose these ephemeral details, time will erode everything one day. My memory falls like sand through my fingers some days.

Let's go a bit lighter.

Do you remember the first time you studied a subject you liked in school?

This memory does not elude me, as many others do. In a small class for "gifted" kids, I learned the many ways patterns show themselves in nature. The Fibonacci sequence, golden ratios, fractals that trace paths into dizzying infinite shapes.

Snail shells, pinecones, flower petals, tree branches, intricate shapes and patterns, entire living organisms built upon eachother, which we pick apart to base numbers in hope of finding meaning.

I find myself losing track of my thoughts lately, and yet the first time I traced the many spirals of a pinecone sears itself into my mind with a giddy joy and wonder. The memory is a positive one, but why do I get to keep it and not the memory of the one who taught me?

I never know when I am going to lose the memory of a moment I cherish to a combination of colors- the shape of a tree trunk- chaos and order- always, always spirals

In my dreams I hear nonsense music and fly through fractals of fear and elation. My art doesn't look the same as it used to, the colors still bring me joy but the shapes never come out how I wish they could. Does it look strange to you?

There is nothing chasing me, no monster under the bed, it's just me. I've always known my mind may fall apart on me, my family doesn't have a great track record for sanity, but I never thought it would feel like this. Funnily enough, I can't remember what I thought it would feel like at all. It doesn't feel very funny.

If I find a way to send my story outside of jumbled thoughts, I will do my best to do so, but trying to get more specific seems to glitch everything, and getting it out in a coherent way at all is.. difficult.

Fingers crossed it works this time.

The dizzying colors of T̶h̴e̴ ̵P̵l̸a̶c̸e̴ ̷B̶e̸y̷o̴n̸d̴ ̴T̷h̵e̸ ̸D̶o̴o̸r̸ cut at your brain like a million stinging barbs, plucking the strings of your synapses until light becomes sound becomes the̷ ̷u̴n̴d̷u̵l̷a̶t̷i̴n̵g̶,̵ ̷a̴r̷r̸h̸y̴t̷h̵m̴i̸c̸ ̵u̴n̴h̷a̵r̸m̵o̸n̸i̴e̶s̷ ̵t̵hat strangle your eye stem in a migraine.

Reality is melting, sliding through your fingers like so many grains of sand that grates against you until you are smooth and without boundaries, b̴l̸e̵e̵d̶i̶n̴g̴ ̴i̷n̷t̶o̴ ̸t̵h̶e̸ ̶s̸p̶a̴c̵e̸ ̷o̵u̸t̵s̷i̷d̶e̴ ̷o̸f̶ ̴y̴o̵u̵r̴ ̴o̴u̴t̷l̸i̷n̷e̸,̷ ̷o̷n̵t̸o̷ ̷t̸h̸e̸ ̸c̶a̸n̷v̴a̵s̵ ̷o̸f̵ ̵t̶h̷e̴ ̷u̶n̸i̸v̷e̶r̶s̸e̸ ̴a̴n̶d̴ ̷y̵o̴u̴,̷ ̵y̵o̴u̸ ̷c̷a̷n̵n̶o̵t̸ ̵s̶t̶o̴p̸ ̴t̸h̴e̴ ̸s̵p̴i̶r̶a̷l̶i̷n̶g̵ ̶p̵a̷t̷t̸e̷r̷n̵s̴ ̸y̸o̷u̵ ̷b̷e̵g̶i̵n̶ ̵t̵o̵ ̷p̸a̵i̴n̴t you paint the sound of the hideous laughter that tastes of over saturated primary colors.

You are the ink of the words in the books lost behind shelves, the rustle of pages in an empty library, the heat of the eclipsed moon. You have unbecome and are becoming this almost being of empty space occupied but unaccompanied.

T̶h̸e̶ ̶o̶n̶l̶y̶ ̵w̸a̸y̴ ̸o̴u̶t̴ ̷i̶s̵ ̵i̵n̶ ̸t̵h̷e̸ ̵w̸r̴o̸n̴g̴ ̴d̷i̶r̶e̷c̴t̷i̷o̸n̶.̸ ̵

[presswoodterryryan]

🚪 Secret Doors and Hidden Worlds: The Math of Mazes and Portals 💻🌟🐰

By Alice Have you ever found a secret door in your house? I just did! And guess what? It was locked with math! It all started when Mr. Fluffernutter’s fluffy ears twitched. “Alice,” he whispered, “I think your room is hiding a secret!” I gasped. “A secret? What kind of secret?” Fluffernutter pointed his paw at the corner of my bookshelf, where a tiny sliver of golden light peeked through. My…

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/3-10/4/2024: BOWLING 4 EVA and SAID OF A DEER THAT SHEDS ITS ANTLERS

Last week I hosted two nights of shorts from the Final Girls Berlin Film Festival. It was a lot of fun, but I have to confess that I'm usually a little bit shorts-averse; I just feel like they tend to come out like little cocktail jokes with a windup and punchline, which can run the additional risk of being too messagey. A story needs more than 30 minutes to fully develop, and I think your uh Fibonacci sequence or whatever needs to run longer than that to feel seriously engrossed. Obviously I don't think there shouldn't be any shorts. THE BABADOOK started out as a short, SMILE started out as a short, among other things I really like--and I did see some things this year that gave me that feeling of a preamble to something bigger.

BOWLING 4 EVA is a surreal black comedy that I could not stop thinking about after I saw it. Filmmaker Aelfie Oudghiri packs a lot of interest into this fifteen minute movie about a suicidal teenager whose family shuttles her between boarding school and a psychiatrist's office to try to fix her. She gets prescribed a "loneliness inhibitor" that produces hallucinations, specifically attached to the only thing that gives her life any meaning--bowling.

The gruesome and weirdly horny climactic dream sequence in which she confronts an anthropomorphic bowling ball that embodies all of her dark thoughts is really great, but I loved the exploration of how the protagonist's alienation and affects her family life, her social life, and her online life. I saw it as a sharp refutation of the idea of the "male loneliness epidemic", which concept somehow suggests that only men and boys experience sexual frustration that can compound mental health issues. There's also an interesting layer about the specific culture of rich Koreans living in Queens, but I think you'd need a feature film to work all that out. Maybe they'll make one, but meanwhile I have discovered that you can watch this cool movie online! Hooray:

Probably my favorite film from the second night was a Belgian movie called SAID OF A DEER THAT SHEDS ITS ANTLERS. I'm noticing a new trend in horror where in recent years the focus has been on grief, and now it's shifting toward elder care. There were a few examples just in this program, including the award-winning OLGA'S EYES and the mysterious SPOOR, which is one of the strangest things I've seen in a while, but Salomé Crickx's SAID OF A DEER looks at the subject through an amusing metaphorical lens.

The film takes place on the day of ritual culling of elder adults in a rural community (although the practice could be universal, who knows!). While most of the young adults celebrate killing their parents with a sweaty basement kegger, one woman deals with the consequences of giving her mischievous folks a few more hours on earth. The point of the film comes into focus when some of the young people playfully gang up on a peer who is approaching middle age without kids or marriage prospects, meaning there is no one to kill him when it's time; this seems to carry the same stigma as having to go into a nursing home without enough family to look after you. It's a smart, funny film, and you should see if it you can! I won't be surprised if Crickx turns out a feature in the near future.

[fasalquran]

Unlocking the Quran's Cosmic Secrets with Nix, the Number Ninja!

Discover the profound connections between Al-Fatiha, the opening chapter of the Quran, and the Fibonacci sequence. This video explores the spiritual, numerical, and mathematical significance of Al-Fatiha’s 7 verses, the Golden Ratio, and their role in the Quran's divine design. Dive into the mysterious Muqattaat letters, cosmic spirals, and the significance of the number 114, unveiling the harmony between mathematics and spirituality. Join us on this cosmic adventure guided by Nix, embodying curiosity and knowledge.

Don't forget to like and share the video to spread this enlightening journey.

#QuranMiracles #FibonacciSequence #GoldenRatio #AlFatiha #Muqattaat #DivineDesign #SpiritualJourney #CosmicPatterns #IslamicStudies #NumericalMiracles #MysticalNumbers #FaithAndMath #QuranicWisdom

OUTLINE:

00:00:00 The Numerical and Spiritual Key to the Quran 00:08:31 A Cosmic Nautilus Shell 00:10:55 Unlocking the Secrets 00:11:42 Alif Lam Mim 00:12:39 He is Allah, the One! 00:13:22 Exploring the Golden Ratio 00:15:13 The Fibonacci Sequence in Nature 00:17:38 Alif Lam Ra 00:18:30 The Mysteries of the "Rahsia" Chapters 00:19:16 A Grand Design 00:20:10 A Spiral of Numbers 00:22:14 Fibonacci 123 Proximity 00:23:57 Fibonacci 34 Echo 00:26:11 Fibonacci 6,765 Nearness 00:28:45 An A.L.R. Light in the Spiral 00:31:40 Fibonacci 97 and 610 00:33:33 Fibonacci 377 Pivot 00:35:25 Fibonacci 377 Again 00:37:41 Fibonacci as Allah's Fingerprint 00:40:17 Cosmic Keys 00:42:39 Spiral Gatekeepers 00:44:30 H.M. Chapters 00:46:39 Q. and N. 00:48:09 Unity Binders 00:49:43 Spiral Crafters 00:51:09 Light Bringers 00:52:32 Cosmic Architects 00:54:44 Divine Codes for Kids 00:56:28 A Spiral of Numbers 01:00:19 The Spiral Keeps Turning – A Call to Share the Cosmic Light 01:05:30 A Fibonacci Gem in the Spiral

[jerusalemstraycat]

^^^ the above was a major moment for me in middle school. I'm a Montessori kid, so you KNOW we were all about the color-coded patterns and charts.

A small selection of additional stories, in no particular order...

In elementary school I always had a 4-function pocket calculator on me to noodle around with. I memorized the sequence of numbers that appeared when you started with 1 and kept alternately pressing the + and = buttons, and only later did I learn that it was called the Fibonacci series.

I memorized the powers of 2 and 3, especially the negative powers (so, the positive powers of 1/2 and 1/3). I was fascinated by how the powers of 1/2 were short and got longer by only one digit every time, while the powers of 1/3 were all infinitely repeating sequences that triple in length. 1/27 has 3 digits that repeat, 1/81 has 9 digits, 1/243 has 27 digits, etc. I have less than 20 digits of pi memorized, but I remember all 81 digits of 1/729.

I remember finding a pattern in reciprocal repdigits - 1/x, 1/xx, 1/xxx (for a digit x). For example: 1/2 = 0.5, 1/22 = 0.0454545..., 1/222 = 0.0045045045... I thought of 0.5 as being made of infinite 45's, all telescoped into each other. Same with 0.2 being made of 18's, 0.125 being made of 1125's... learning that the "components" could be easily predicted by just dividing 9/x took a bit of the magic out of it, but it helped me figure out the components of 1/7 (0.142857...) that had stumped me. Turns out it's the only digit with components that are themselves repeating sequences.

When I was like 12 and had just learned about slopes I realized that the graphs of sine and cosine were each other's slopes (kinda). Then years later I learned about derivatives in high school and I was like IT HAS A NAME!

I loved my algebra textbook from 8th grade so much that my parents actually bought me a copy. It was my first introduction to FOIL, and I couldn't stop thinking about the unexplainably haunting beauty of (a + b)(x + y) = ab + ay + bx + xy.

I! love! complex! numbers! I love raising them to weird powers and watching the graphs spin around and around! I love the roots of unity and how they make regular polygons! I love the freaking Mandelbrot Set!!! For a while my entire Youtube recommended was full of exotic fractal zoom videos, and I loved them!

I didn't wanna derail the other post but I still wanna spread some love for my favourite subject...

Reblog if you've ever felt genuine joy or excitement from doing and/or thinking about math

[umflowers]

the fact that tool made three separate songs and a couple of them were like discordant noises and fans went 'hmm' and figured out you can layer them together and it makes one complete song and the fact that tool wrote lateralus around the fibonacci sequence and the fact that judith is Thee song i'd have written if i had extraordinary musical ability and the fact that maynard would wear dresses onstage to piss off assholes in the audience and the fact that now he just like owns a nice winery and makes sure his kids have an actual private life