Reach me down my Tycho Brahe,—I would know him when we meet, When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet; He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how We are working to completion, working on from then till now.
Pray, remember, that I leave you all my theory complete, Lacking only certain data, for your adding as is meet; And remember, men will scorn it, ’tis original and true, And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.
But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learnt the worth of scorn; You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn; What, for us, are all distractions of men’s fellowship and smiles? What, for us, the goddess Pleasure, with her meretricious wiles?
You may tell that German college that their honour comes too late. But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant’s fate; Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.
What, my boy, you are not weeping? You should save your eyes for sight; You will need them, mine observer, yet for many another night. I leave none but you, my pupil, unto whom my plans are known. You “have none but me,” you murmur, and I “leave you quite alone”?
Well then, kiss me,—since my mother left her blessing on my brow, There has been a something wanting in my nature until now; I can dimly comprehend it,—that I might have been more kind, Might have cherished you more wisely, as the one I leave behind.
I “have never failed in kindness”? No, we lived too high for strife,— Calmest coldness was the error which has crept into our life; But your spirit is untainted, I can dedicate you still To the service of our science: you will further it? you will!
There are certain calculations I should like to make with you, To be sure that your deductions will be logical and true; And remember, “Patience, Patience,” is the watchword of a sage, Not to-day nor yet to-morrow can complete a perfect age.
I have sworn, like Tycho Brahe, that a greater man may reap; But if none should do my reaping, ’twill disturb me in my sleep. So be careful and be faithful, though, like me, you leave no name; See, my boy, that nothing turn you to the mere pursuit of fame.
I must say Good-bye, my pupil, for I cannot longer speak; Draw the curtain back for Venus, ere my vision grows too weak: It is strange the pearly planet should look red as fiery Mars,— God will mercifully guide me on my way amongst the stars.
it’s been said before and i’m sure said better than i can phrase it. but really, really - if you like making “i’m going to kill myself” jokes, please try switching to being ironically conceited instead.
anytime something goes wrong, say things like “ah well at least i’m beautiful and charming and everyone loves me.” when you forget something, try “my big huge brain is so smart and thinking about too many other very big wizardly thoughts you wouldn’t even understand.” when you’re frustrated by one of your symptoms, start talking like you’re in My Immortal. “Life has come for me but my eyes are beautiful pools of gorgeous fire and my hair is amazing. I stuck my middle finger up at life and told it to fuck off and it did.”
just… try it for a month or two. try saying the most absurdly self-congratulatory shit you can think of.
i know it’s tempting to make suicide or self-harm jokes. and for me at least, a decade ago (!) when someone suggested i stop making those kinds of jokes, i was kind of at a loss for what to replace them with. i wanted to make light of these moments, but genuinely (at the time) my first thought really was suicidal ideation. there was a part of me that even felt like … i was kind of “making light” of that voice. that if i could say i want to die lol, it would help take the sting out of that genuine (albeit passive) desire. like i could turn my illness into a joke.
when i started complimenting myself instead, it felt awkward and stupid. it felt really, really ironic. what i was actually saying was nobody would ever think this stuff about me, that’s what makes it so fucking funny.
but. the effect was immediate. first thing i noticed was the people around me. when i dropped a glass and said ah my skin is too beautiful and sleek the glass has swooned and broken for me, other people were suddenly overjoyed to jump in with the joke. rather than making an awkward moment, we’d both start cracking up. ah princess sleek hands, i’ve heard of you.
i was 19. i hadn’t noticed i’d been making others tense when i said i want it all to end. i know now that it’s incredibly hard to know how to walk that moment - do you talk to them about your concern? do you potentially make them uncomfortable by asking if they’re okay? do you ignore the situation? do you help them pick up the glass, or do they need to do it by themselves? are they genuinely made suicidal over this small moment? and most importantly, how do you - without professional training or supplies - actually help?
most people want to help you pick up the glass in your life, they just have no fucking idea how to do it. they don’t want to make anything worse. they don’t want to make assumptions about you. they love you, they’re scared for you - and being scared makes people kind of freeze up. it’s not because they don’t love you. it’s because they do.
now when something bad happens, my first thought is how can i make a stupid joke about this. it isn’t my brain saying you’re a dumb fucking bitch. i spend more time laughing. i spend more time being gentle with myself. i spend more time feeling good.
and the thing is - what’s kind of funny - is that you’d be surprised by how many people agree with you. the first time i said i’m too pretty to understand that, someone else said to be fair you’re the prettiest person in this room. i promise - you really don’t know how kindly your friends see you. but they love you for a reason. they sort of reverse-velveteen-rabbit you. your weird and ugly spots fade away and you just become… the love they want to give you.
go love yourself ironically. the worst thing that happens is that you end up tricking your reflection into actually loving you.
This machine allows anyone to work for minimum wage for as long as they like. Turning the crank on the side releases one penny every 4.97 seconds, for a total of $7.25 per hour. This corresponds to minimum wage for a person in New York. This piece is brilliant on multiple levels, particularly as social commentary. Without a doubt, most people who started operating the machine for fun would quickly grow disheartened and stop when realizing just how little they’re earning by turning this mindless crank. A person would then conceivably realize that this is what nearly two million people in the United States do every day…at much harder jobs than turning a crank. This turns the piece into a simple, yet effective argument for raising the minimum wage.
god damn
Ten years. Ten years I’ve been seeing this wonderful art piece, and STILL our minimum wage REMAINS at 7.25/hour.
Meanwhile, the cost of living has easily tripled.
And minimum wage wasn’t enough to cover it even before.
So, I don’t think I’ve ever had the Epilogue AU laid out in writing before. I likely had the gist of it explained in my first VN Demo video, but I’ve made some minor changes to it since then.
So here goes.
Taking place four years after the events of Book 12, not too long after George and Harold graduate Jerome Horwitz Elementary, the Epilogue AU follows Mr. Krupp as he is trying to work out a perfect setup to propose to Edith the Lunch Lady. But things go wayside as the engagement ring he picked up off the floor turned out to be a hypno ring that mysteriously causes him to turn into Captain Underpants again, but this time Krupp is only just discovering that this is happening to him on his own. Now his only hope of getting answers and hopefully getting back to normal, seems to lie with an inquisitive red clown in his dreams who keeps prodding him into a reluctant soul search.
Let me know what you guys think or have questions. I like hearing feedback.
