Math rock

I owe 38% of my blog content to Terrance Howard's 1 x 1 = 2 claim, so it feels silly not to share his thesis with you. It's a fun read for anyone. I like admiring it as a piece of art. Maybe y'all will too. It contains some memorable quotes I'll let you discover for yourself. For a serious discussion of the maths in it have a google or see my previous post "6.4 = makeout". Neil de Grasse Tyson even made a video about Howard's knee slapper. The assertion had to be taken seriously, I guess. Pseudo-scientific bullshit can be a dangerous problem in society, unlike artists waffling pish about their art. Love you guys still. Taking notes.

A second year pupil I once taught also knew about Terryology and told me how he'd read Howard's thesis and saw right through it straight away. Wee dude was whip-smart and he liked reading journal articles in his spare time (too). I don't retain any information I read myself; I'm only in it for The Journey. I worry about developing dementia, but let's try to forget about that. On the other hand, this kid was super knowledgeable about all kinds of stuff, and he had interesting ways of thinking about problems I'd give him. Very non-standard clever approaches. It was hard to challenge him. He didn't get the best grades, but I'm sure he was one of the strongest mathematicians I've ever taught. Motherfucker was 13 years old and living it up on JSTOR and ResearchGate. At age 13 I was picking my nose and wiping my boogers onto the underside of school desks. Now I use my socks. I'll always be a work in progress. 

Presumably because it couldn't pass peer- review, Howard published his thesis on Twitter. I've started following him on instagram to see what he's thinking and to read the comments people post on his output. He's written a new manifesto. The first time I stumbled across it I thought it was--omg, lmfao--someone else mercilessly taking the piss out of him. But nope, it seems to be his own handiwork. I laugh, but I love Howard. We do have lots in common. His manifesto has serious "g starting to blog" energy. Like him, I briefly considered becoming a Jehovah's witness, and I too want to make the world a better place. It was wrong of me to call him 'psychotic' when that's not something I'm qualified to diagnose in others. Who knows where his inspiration comes from? Terry's been through a lot of tough shit I can't imagine, and I really admire him as a person who's trying hard to learn from mistakes on things that count. ((Not maths)) Enjoy the hallucinogenic journey that is maths//science with Terry. 

Funnily enough, I haven't heard much/any(?) math rock I enjoy. I'd like to change my mind, but it's all been very "turn that shit off" to me so far. Instead,  here's a link to an awesome mathy, jazzy, noisy band: 16-17. Their music *is* hard to find, so I'm linking to a sick album on bandcamp I used to have on CD and blast in the car, as well as whatever I can find on youtube. You're gonna love them, or you can get in the sea. They make music that makes sense to me, which is one way I find them 'mathematical', and I'd love dancing to all their shit. I'm diagnosing 16-17 with genre tag: "psychotic jazz//noise".

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I'd like to take a highlighter to Terry's thesis to make it more beautiful, but you're being spared the visual assault since it's in image files. I don't wanna comment any further. You decide what to make of all that//this. Here are words from people on instagram:

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Here's a poem you may have read, unless it's only popular in North America? It's widely credited to a Canadian high school pupil who committed suicide shortly after giving it to their English teacher, but it's unknown if they wrote it themselves or found it. I came across it when I was 14 or something and I never forgot it. I think about all the kids when I read it; I think about all of us.

HE ALWAYS WANTED TO SAY THINGS, BUT NO ONE UNDERSTOOD

He always wanted to say things but no one understood.
He always wanted to explain things but no one cared.

So he drew.

Sometimes he would just draw and it wasn't anything.
He wanted to carve it in stone or write it in the sky.
He would lie out on the grass and look up at the sky and it
would be only him and the sky, and the things that needed saying.

And it was after that, that he drew the picture.
It was a beautiful picture.
He kept it under the pillow and would let no one see it.
He would look at it every night and think about it.
And when it was dark, and his eyes were closed, he could still see it.
It was all of him and he loved it.

When he started school he brought it with him.
Not to show anyone, but just to have like a friend.

It was funny about school.
He sat in a square brown desk, like all the other square
brown desks, and he thought it should be red.
And his room was a square brown room like all the other rooms.
It was tight and close, and stiff.

He hated to hold the pencil, and the chalk, with his arm stiff
and his feet flat on the floor, stiff with a teacher watching
and watching.
And then he had to write a numbers.
And they weren't anything.
They were worse than the letters which could be something
if you put them together.
The numbers were tight and square and he hated the whole thing.

The teacher came and spoke to him.
She told him to wear a tie like all the other boys.
He said he didn't like them and she said it didn't matter.
After that they drew.
He drew all yellow and it was the way he felt about morning.
And it was beautiful.

The teacher came and smiled at him.
"What's this?", she said.
"Why don't you draw something like Ken's drawing?
Isn't that beautiful?"
It was all questions.

After that his mother bought him a tie and he always drew
aeroplanes and rocket ships like everyone else.
And he threw the old picture away.
And when he lay out alone looking at the sky it was big and blue.
And all of everything, but he wasn't any more.

He was square inside and brown, and his hands were stiff,
and he was like anyone else.
And the thing inside him that needed saying didn't need saying anymore.

It has stopped pushing.
It was crushed, stiff.
Like everything else.