Mathblr What Are Some Silly Sounding Maths Terms I Can Scare My Family With

“Live your life as though your every act were to become a universal law.”

— Immanuel Kant

I would like to mention to Lord of the flies readers (or readers of any books tbh) that there is no such thing as being 'evil' without a reason. I'm mainly talking about Jack and the kids who were on his side during the whole book's timeline. Yes, I know, their actions shouldn't be forgiven, but the book literally talks about how every human acts when they have power, no matter how 'civilised' they are. Everybody wants power, and hell, even Ralph isn't a saint either (Simon is though, since he fits in the Christ Archetype of characters, but that's not the point of this post). Everybody is morally grey, even in other stories, as there isn't such thing as a 'good' and 'bad'. Even in fairytales the 'good' characters do bad things. It depends on which point of view you're viewing. Even your worst enemy is the main character in their own story, and that's the beauty in people in general.

Anyways, back on the topic of LOTF, I hate when people just view Jack as just 'pure evil' because he wants power, since Ralph wasn't any better either (well...technically he was tbh cuz he didn't kill anybody, unlike Jack, but still), we just viewed from the point of Ralph, since he's the protagonist of the story. Jack might've been mean at the start, but he was that way since he had even a tiny bit of power as the head choir boy. Power, no mater how much, makes people stop viewing others as equals, or even humans. Just as people at power in society, since LOTF does symbolise society in general.

Idk I just woke up and had to write this on Tumblr cuz I'm tired of people always writing about Jack and Ralph from an objective POV (which isn't wrong, don't worry), rather than a subjective POV lol.

TL;DR: LOTF would be completely different if we viewed it from another character's POV

« Ralph pleurait la fin de l’innocence, les ténèbres du cœur de l’homme et la chute dans les airs d’un véritable et sage ami appelé Piggy. »

-William Golding, Le Seigneur des mouches.

SEE YOU IN HELL, PUNK

Dedicated to someone very special.

In your wake, you will realize all of your efforts have been futile.

Why not instead go back to your deserving hedonistic dance?

I need to know how and when you will realize your own actions have been in vain.

For I am the voyeurist that you so abhore.

Preciptous arrival of the ides

The ides of March approached rapidly with great anticipation. 

Bestowed upon time’s constant perpetual dance, patience has no place amid the need to demolish the gnawing incapacitate that held ambition to a pause.

A revolution against cowardice, for the valiant never taste of death but once.

For what is known as a vibrant culture

There amongst resided two revolutionaries that contrasted this phenomenon.

One of them, with bold might, plot alongside the other.

Though their differing ages were apparent physically, their minds were all too similar.

The younger of the two swayed the elder, yet the elder not refused the sway of such delicious deliverance.

For, many centuries ago, there lived two. They staged their own revolt against cowardice.

The men of the past held their daggers high—

their shame nonexistent upon the knowledge of the enormity that the downwards thrust would bring

that they repeated again and again.

Modern times tell a messy tale—an interconnected, violent shout  pleading for the reassurance of  existence.

The people stand by; as they watch in bewilderment, unbeknownst to the sheer intensity that the two  reborn schemers promised to bring long ago.

The people squirm amidst the pressure of a shortened run.

All while the conspirators celebrate their shortened run with their own splatter to tell of the impatient rage that brewed so immensely within them.

The nurture of a larger state proved futile in the eyes of the already developed stubbornness that man hold so dearly

For the deepest betrayal never comes from an enemy.

It is not he who deals the first blow whose cut runs deepest.

It is he that picks his dagger of choice and lunges towards with great determination to leave nothing but a carcass of  what used to be

For every modern conspirator, a day earlier from the irreversible gash in time—one that will never heal to perfection.

Mankind witnesses the turbulence of the everlasting wound, yet seeks no form of darn.

Humility is forgotten amidst the heavy need to instigate and inflame even after such sullen juncture

Of the timeless dilemma of the fickle nature that mankind possesses, there lies contingency giving its deserved guffaw towards the mass of negligent existence who are so unconcerned by the unceasing consequences of the wound that remains far too stubborn to heal

Amusingly, the one entity who knows of the everlasting wound amalgamated alongside the conspirators.

Tedium mass tear apart the conspirator.

For his involvement, for his pride, for his audacity, and for his wretched bad verses.

Pluck his name out of his heart for he is far too mad.

Pluck, pluck—for the stinging reasoning of such acts is far too immeasurable, in its rawest form, to bear being recognized.

Mankind—all alike.

The siren calls of bliss lead to the depths of ignorance.

No greater than the other

Including the deviants that showcased their rage raw.

Each proposition has its counter.

No matter how far one attempts to shy away from their own liability.

Albatross gives its serenade of admonish for mankind to abhor.

But as the terrain of negligence festers,

The susurrations of the conspirators’ ring callous toward amenable assemblage

For the timeless wound remains—adamant, unyielding in its pandemonium.

owch

You know, having a lunar eclipse (also commonly called a blood moon) the day before the Ides of March feels a bit like a… omen. Wouldn’t you say?

George Orwell's Animal Farm Cover Art

All animals are equal but some animals are more equal than others.