Academia Aesthetic - Blog Posts
Some pictures from today. The weather was absolutely beautiful; the sun, warm and felt rejuvenated even after my neuro exam.
Hot espresso with a small slice of lemon peel and a hint of anisette liqueur, warm flaky buttery croissant, small batch of tart raspberries, dark chocolate bar with sprinkles of hazelnut, and amethyst coloured figs straight off the tree.
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.
Tea gets cold so quickly, it should be illegal.
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.
A couple confessions from your favorite romantic Chemistry academic….
Is there anything more Dark Academia than Nietzche and Schnabel commenting on Mozart’s music?
Also, is there such a thing as thrift shopping in your father’s closet? If not, I just made it a thing.
I was heading home from University on a rather grey day and whilst walking, a vintage looking barber shop caught my eye. The door was open and on the bottom right corner was a small picture of Ernest Hemingway…my favorite writer. Though it may be nothing really special to anyone else, I thought it was quite brilliant.
Melancholic Medical Student by the Sea
Salty air, grey fog, chilly breeze, cricket chirps, full moon, partially cloudy sky, slippery rocks, cold sand, paper cut, oversized faded blue plaid shirt, chemistry books on the floor, cold abandoned coffee, black cat sleeping an emerald green flannel, heavy rain tapping on the window, cold ears, neatly folded navy scrubs, warm candlelight, unfinished lab report, iodine, verses from Hamlet running through my mind as I drift into daydreams…unable to concentrate, it is cold and I keep reading the same page about aortic aneurysms, dried out perrywinkles, half eaten toast, Franz Schubert’s Schwanengesang, D. 957: IV. Ständchen playing on the record player at a low volume, skull on desk, seagulls dropping blue mussels on the empty beach parking lot, unopened letters, heavy eyelids, barnacle shells, bleak oblivion, creaking floorboards, anatomical sketches collecting dust, distant breaking waves, unreciprocated love, tight chest, fidgeting, messy illegible notes, smell of old books, staring into nothingness….
“To die, to sleep- to sleep, perchance to dream/ Ay, there’s the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come” (Hamlet, 3.1)
Writers gather around
“Writers aren’t exactly people...they are a bunch of people trying to be one person” -F. Scott Fitzgerald
...I am writers. Thank you Scott, for giving an explanation for my dilemma.
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.
Picture credits: yours truly
Tchaikovsky is playing whilst the fire burns in the stone fireplace, red embers resemble the sun, rain tapping furiously on the window, thunder, the smell of wet earth and musk, messy handwriting, bromothymol blue ink stains on my fingers, empty glass bottles, a warm emerald green and deep blue tartan shawl,wrinkled white chemise, cold Irish breakfast tea, daydreaming into the night, warm socks, writing ceaselessly, finishing my chemistry lab report, simultaneously yearning for an archenemy to fall in love with, might light a cigarette and let the rain caress my face...
Yorick...bae
So...I found this lovely bookshop and now I’m obsessed!!!!!
Decisions decisions...
I’ve been collecting the quotes from celestial tea
This is the epitome of academia and it’s beautiful in my eyes.
I believe that this is the essence of academia. This is just so beautifully written. My heart fluttered as I read through the page.
Is there anything better than reading a book and having a cuppa?
The academia life is just so revitalizating. Reading is such a satisfying activity for the mind and soul.
This is what i like about photographs- they are proof that once, even if just for a heartbeat, everything was perfect.
Jodi Picoult
Hands are unbearably beautiful, they hold on to things they let things go.
What should i do with these hands if they can’t hold you?
Give me your hands
My soul will sleep inside of them
Inside of them my soul will sleep for eternity
Her hand in mine and in my chest a garden.
But i still don’t know how to hold your hand without reading the ugliness of my own, but i can’t contain my soul from enveloping yours!
I clung to your hands so that something human might exist in the chaos.
I don’t know what to do without you, i don’t know where to put my hands.
Texting sucks, lets have deep conversations and roll on the grass instead.
"I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself."
Franz Kafka
I either urge to over explain myself or be left misunderstood. There is no in-between.
Ada Limón, from “Too Close”, The Hurting Kind
People don’t understand that we quiet ones are quiet because the conversation’s always playing out in our own heads.
The wheel of time
"My alone feels so good. I'll only have you if you're sweeter than my solitude."
Warsan Shire
“…but you people do not understand me, and i am afraid you never will.”
Vincent Van Gogh
"I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life."
Virginia Woolf