Break Glass in case of Insight

Good morning, you flickering bulbs,
half-charged batteries sparking in rows.
Sit. Screens off. Eyes sharp.
This isn’t a lecture, it’s a live wire.

Where chaos churns, profit hides,
sharpening its teeth in the shadows.
That’s the whole damn course.
Etch it into your palms if you need to.

Stalk any industry’s pulse.
Hear the groan of rusted gears,
the murmur of “That’s how it’s done.”
That’s your cue, your target’s exposed.
Take Devansh: no genius, just awake.
Saw a process stumble, shouted, “Test the blood!”
Cash flowed before the lab coats blinked.
Point is: See. Speak. Win.

Paul Christiano stormed theory’s temple,
kicked the altar, said, “Your dogma’s wrong.”
Redrew the map while they groped for stones.
Lesson? Torch the script. Seize the chalk.
Truth doesn’t bow to tenure.

Some ideas sway like shaky scaffolding.
Let them. A wobble reveals the cracks.
Failure’s not a grave, it’s a scout.
Every wreck pays tuition to brilliance.
In short: Bleed for it.

Path One: Committee. Smells of toner and fear.
Produces safe, beige sludge.
Path Two: Lone Torch. Stinks of burnt wire and coffee.
Risks ruin, but sometimes, sometimes, it splits the sky.
Choose.
The market ignores fire drills.
It crowns the arsonist who builds from ash.

No spark? No blaze worth chasing?
Fine. Rest. Learn jazz piano. Sketch crows.
Curiosity’s the ember that never fades.
Next term, the world might be kindling.
Keep your matches dry.

Not hope. Not prayer.
Belief is facing a door and pushing
because you don’t see a lock.
If it splinters, you’ve learned its grain.
Write the paper. Sell the splinters.
In short: Push.

List three processes on campus run like drunken emus.
Write a one-page fix for one. Deadline: Friday.
Budget: $50 and shameless grit.
Extra credit: Prove me wrong.
Win, and you’re at this podium next week.

Professor snaps notebook shut, downs coffee.
Questions? Complaints? Existential dread?
Silence means you’re already rust.
Prove you’re not.

FSF