DRAFT
T-shirt front:
NOT GOOD ENOUGH
NO FIRE
on the front and
Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it to us,
for ... THIS?
on the back.
Where now are the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing? Where is the harp on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing? Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing? They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow; The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow. Who shall gather the smoke of the deadwood burning, Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?
—J.R.R Tolkien, The Two Towers. Theoden speaking to Gamling before the Uruk-hai attack Helm’s Deep.
Where now are the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing? Is it all lost?
At that sound, the bent shape of the king sprang suddenly erect. Tall and proud he seemed again; and rising in his stirrups he cried in a loud voice, more clear than any there had ever heard a mortal man achieve before:
Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!
Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!
spear shall be shaken, shield shall be splintered,
a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!
With that he seized a great horn from Guthláf his banner-bearer, and he blew such a blast upon it that it burst asunder. And straightway all the hors in the host were lifted up in music, and the blowing of the horns of Rohan in that hour was like a storm upon the plain and a thunder in the mountains.
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!
Suddenly the king cried to Snowmane, and the horse sprang away. Behind him his banner blew in the wind, thie horse upon a field of green, but he outpaced it. After him thundered the knights of the house, but he was ever before them. Éomer rode there, the white horsetail on his helm floating in his speed, and the front of the first éored roared like a breaker foaming to the shore, but Théoden could not be overtaken. Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the word was young. His golden shield was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the Sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet of his steed. For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and the darkness was removed, and the hosts of Morder wailed, and terror took them, and they fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath rode over them. And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was over them, and the sound of their singing was fair and terrible came even to the City.
—J.R.R Tolkien, The Return of the King, chapter 5, “The Ride of the Rohirrim”.
I WANT TO FEEL THE FLAMES AND ALMOST GET BURNED. I want to feel my heart pumping. I want movement. I want flow. I want to live on the edge of comfort.
ANALYSIS SO SLOW. In civil engineering, we must move SO SLOWLY. In programming, theres SO MUCH HASSLE. prometheus didn’t sacrifice himself to give us fire—so that we could use fire for this. FIRE! Let’s joyfully compose good pieces of building material! Let’s work in a feedback cycle that effectively lets us know where we stand! Let us gain power!
Our school system doesn’t teach us how to create. It teaches us to shut the fuck up, sit down and do our homework. Discipline has its place. Working with a culture of whiny entitlement is a punishment suitable for those in purgatory. But disipline is not everything. Pure discipline is not enough. Pure discipline is sterile. sterility, mess and utility affect each other. Discipline is needed for order and clarity. Without order and clarity, we can give up any hope of building shared intent. BUT DISCIPLINE ALONE IS NOT ENOUGH WE NEED FIRE! Make a fuzz. Get mad. Go build it. play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Or play in reality and win real prizes.