Music, Math, and Poetry

This is one of the most triumphant songs.

I don't feel at all opposed to writing today; I'm just not sure what to write. Things are pretty chill. I went to bed early yesterday, so I felt pretty good today. My job is still pretty swanky. I care very much about my students, so I am angered about a certain situation, but I pray and expect it will be alright. I eat a lot of food. I know we're in America, so that's customary and whatnot, but food: it's glorious. (Another beautiful song.)

The adage is "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." That's hyperbole. There is no THE way. However, through a man's stomach is the fastest way to his heart. And it doesn't even need to be romantic. There have been men who have bought me food, given me pizza, or what have you. Invariably, I think to myself, "That guy. That guy is a really cool guy."

Think about mothers! Barring Oedipus' complex, most sons are drawn back home because of their mothers' food. Dear mothers of the world, please do not think that your sons care only for food, but there's something powerful about that subconscious sense of familiar safety. There are many factors that draw men home.

While it's on my mind, I suppose I'll mention this one snippet: Ladies, presupposing that your significant other is a relatively good man who cares about you, you must consider the possibility that you have trained him to irritate the shit out of you.

For example, in the recent past, I have been accosted twice for responding slowly: one was coming to dinner late, and two was getting into the car late. Consider: When a lady says, "It's time to leave" – more often than not – it typically devolves into roughly 20 minutes of talking and then leaving. The problem then – with us blokes – is that we are quite on time, so we do our best to understand your meaning of "It's time for." As far as we can interpret, "It's time for" means "In twenty minutes."

I could list quite a few examples, but I'll restate just this: Presupposing that your significant other is a relatively good man who cares about you, you must consider the possibility that you have trained him to irritate the shit out of you.

Oreos are great though. But they probably cause cancer. Dang it.

Math! Math is pretty awesome stuff. I'm sorry that you hate it. You know nothing about it; that's why you hate it. People hate what they don't know. Math is beautiful. I was chatting with a friend, and, due to his inspiration, I am going to relearn some discrete math! Sets! Set functions! Great stuff. Not today, but I'm going to have to revitalize my knowledge of probability too. So tasty.

Poetry! Poetry is awesome stuff, but it's hidden, so hidden. C.S. Lewis and G.A. Studdert Kennedy are my two, main, trusted poets. My dad would be too, but it has been far too long since he's written poetry. Steven Petrillo and Randall Juzwiak are poet paragons! I am honored to have heard their poetry; I severely hope I will get to share more with them.

Sadly – yet understandably – I have not written a proper poem in a long time, though I always say that. (ANOTHER great song.) I wrote my last one April 22nd, 2015. That's almost a year ago! The longest span before then was April 13, 2008 to April 9, 2009. Due to some arbitrary, made-up principle, I don't think I can allow a full year to pass without writing another poem. I have time but not much. (A rousing song.) "When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drum!" It gives me feelings reminiscent of this.

I wish America had something like that. I wish. I wish.

In any case, I'm looking forward to writing about my earth elementals and all their bloodthirsty, brotherly glory.