aesthetic for @wearethenerd

• math problems worked out paper, the answer circled triumphantly
• staying updated on world affairs
• taking time to learn new things during lockdown, finding some peace in the solitude
  
• economics textbooks open on your desk, graphs copied into your notes
• enjoying your own company and the quiet of your own space
• books piled on your desk, on your floor, stacked in boxes
• learning your favorite myths and retelling them on cold evenings
• a journal open to the newest entry
• savoring the last piece of a particularly good chocolate bar
  
• recording your thoughts, your ideas, wanting to remember it all
• loving data, the strings of numbers that carry deeper meaning
  
• the smell of fresh bread
• wanting to learn, to investigate the world 
  
• the color of the forest when golden sunlight hits the leaves
• your favorite books kept near your bed
  
• a brown coat, wrapped around you to protect against the cold
• staying indoors on long, sunny afternoons

When I grieve,
before my eyes there is a
blackness,
like a fog,
a dizzy subterranean malice.
My veins constrict,
and I feel as if I need
to burst into tears,
for the air is so cold.
And something is there
breathing in the dark….

it’s always “wyd” and never “do you got plans tonight? i’m a couple hundred miles from japan, and i i was thinkin i could fly to your hotel tonight cause i can’t get you off my mind”

I’m not happy, but I’m spirited.
I’m not glad for all the world,
I’m thoroughly disgusted by its
enmity and victory and
the way it compels people to
act according to its wishes.
No, leave me out!
There, in that respect,
I am unwavering.

Sometime late at night
you will come to know us.
Then, with ten thousand others,
we will celebrate your arrival
where the dark is remarkable
and worthy
and wondrous and reassuring.
Because, here, all is finally
well.

There’s an honor in withdrawal.
It means you can’t stand much
of all that goes on out there.
The world is harsh
to those soft and tender.
The unwavering return to solitude
removes some of us,
doesn’t it?
Do you as well know this
diffidence?
We are the same.

If there is a light in this world,
I’ve scarcely seen it glow.
I staggered through my youth,
among the worn,
the cast out,
the expelled.
We were terrible in the eyes,
like preparations for a funeral.
We were dizzy, dazzled
by elimination.
And yet we were there.

Beautiful Latin phrases ~ part 1

• ad astra per aspera - to the stars through difficulties 
• alis volat propriis - he flies by his own wings 
• amantium irae amoris integratio est - the quarrels of lovers are the renewal of love 
• ars longa, vita brevis - art is long, life is short 
• aut insanity homo, aut versus facit - the fellow is either mad or he is composing     verses 
• dum spiro spero - while I breathe, I hope 
• ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem - with the sword, she seeks peace under liberty 
• exigo a me non ut optimus par sim sed ut malis melior - I require myself not to be equal to the best, but to be better than the bad
• experiential docet - experience teaches 
• helluo librorum - a glutton for books (bookworm) 
• in libras libertas - in books, freedom 
• littera scripta manet - the written letter lasts 
• mens regnum bona possidet - an honest heart is a kingdom in itself 
• mirabile dictu - wonderful to say 
• nullus est liber tam malus ut non aliqua parte prosit - there is no book so bad that it is not profitable in some part 

I’m diving into desperation tonight,
while the light is low
and the night is quiet.
I’ve decided who I belong to:
nobody
but all those who have nobody.

I’ve written some sad words for sad people.
They’re my people,
and I feel as if I were made to be among
all those who
creep about in loneliness and grief
because they don’t feel like they belong here.

i see two men behind the frontlines. the other’s head lay gently on his shoulder. in hindsight, their intimacy would remind you of lovers at a park. only they were at war— hoarse screams echo from miles away, bullets rain from above, the heavy thud of some soldier’s body complete the painting of their affection. his brother at arms. his beloved companion breathes heavily beside him. he liked to imagine scenarios that didnt involve violence. to not see each other bloodied and bruised. always tired to the bone. nothing but mere poetry whispered against each other’s ear keep them awake, sane and whole. it barely scratches the surface. he would like to see their future, together, seemingly untouched by the horror of humanity’s folly. his ally is cold to the touch. my darling comrade, he says. over and over. like a broken record. he doesn’t hear him. not anymore.

There is something about those in pain,
those withdrawn from life
due to fear and anxiety and the rest,
that particularly appeals to me:
me, with my fear and anxiety and the rest.
I feel this pain,
and I like to know that I’m not alone.

Somewhere we exist, us in this other life.
All of us who live here in this otherliness,
we love you in spite of your flaws.
Love yourself, even if you feel unlovable.
The most powerful thing you can do for yourself
is to love all the ugliness in your soul.

the moon kisses me at night

If you’d like to join a history discord server with greek mythology, ancient eras, middle ages, revolutions and world wars please send me a message. we have other channels too such as film nights, literature, art history, venting and do many more. send me a message!