Change of Variable Theorem for Multiple Integrals

Let K contained in R^n be a compact and connected set having boundary of volume zero. Let A be an open superset of K, and let T: A-> R^n where T is differentiable with continuous first partial derivatives. T is injective on the interior of K and the determinant of the Jacobian matrix for T is not zero on the interior of K. Let f: T(K)-> R be continuous.
Then
Integral of f over T(K) = Integral over k of f composed with T times the absolute value of the determinant of the Jacobian matrix for T.

I thought maybe typing it out here would help me remember it. I hear people talk about writing essays on Tumblr so it feels more like playtime.
I think maybe I was wrong in thinking that I could extend the function of math studying by zero over the internet box to prove that it is integrable.
Math is the corrupter.

While I am not doing Math, an Excerpt from the Burnt Journal

(Ellipsis means lost to fire) (Circa July 2010) (Angsty freewrite sans edits not imposed by fate)
Graceful, uncomforta.............................
a new experience...................................
and living the nun..................................
It's all you patched................................
tattered knew. It's a..............................
staid and static gr..................................
is no world but the one..........................
deforms your lips as you search
for a hiding place. There is
no life until you stop searching
There's no use in letters until
you can read a word without
Them. What's the use in writing
if you can't wear it? Where's
the curl in perfect and how
did they come to overlap?
Questions suggesting a new train
... thought that always checks
....ts that no one has bought
...................in knots of words
...........................mindgames
......................on because
.......................to wait for
.......................you to that
...................else is running
..................stopping for a laugh
................whether or not
....................ahead she's
a detour. She can grab
the taillight on the way
through and HOLD THE FUCK
ON because otherwise she
could miss out. Why would
it stop? You still hid from your
lips.
Oh you spin. You think of
a new rational for every
level of the swirling flush
into a new level of hypocrisy.
Don't be proud of when you
swim against the current
because that sort of behavior
is what should never
stop. That's what keeps us
sane. That's what...............
us proud. That's................
eats brain and heart...........
leave room for su.............
something more to f...........
tells you so. The...............
Who tell you outright........
say it with their..............
The people who it...........
Can't stop looking for it so
The must have tasted it. Your
own personal eldorab Eldorado
Can you ignore that anymore?
Will they let you? You're the
one they'll have to drag to heaven
to prove that you belong.
Try to make someone else
your own? These 3 pages of
truth happened faster
than any forced account.
Plus, no one remembers
happenings, sayings just feelings
...you know, just you
.................scratchings
.............oothest ride proves
................ask a price
.................Asks a starless
....................nights. asks a cleaner
................ body. Begs contaminants
.................arning and growing
................! Now up. Now over
....................It's not redundant it's
a theme. It's not punctuation
it's feeling. It's not language
it's one time. Use throw away
child's surprise. Poof. Splash.
can we wash our way to happ
iness. Will you join me with a sponge?

Where I Take Things Lord Kelvin Says And I Replace "Science" With My Name

"Julia is bound, by the everlasting vow of honour, to face fearlessly every problem which can be fairly presented to it."

There cannot be a greater mistake than that of looking superciliously upon practical applications of Julia. The life and soul of Julia is its practical application..."

"Present Julia has no right to attempt to explain gravitation. We know nothing about it. We simply know nothing about it"

"The steam engine has given more to Julia than Julia has given to the steam engine"

"This leads me to remark how much Julia, even in its most lofty speculations, gains in return for benefits conferred by its application to promote the social and material welfare of man."

"We can see, therefore, that there are many attributes of movement, displacement, and deformation which can be considered independently of force, mass, chemical composition, elasticity, heat, magnetism and electricity; and it is of greatest use to Julia for such properties to be considered as a first step."

"I believe that the more thoroughly Julia is studied, the further does it take us from anything comparable to atheism."

One word characterized the most strenuous of the efforts for the advancement of Julia that I have made perseveringly during fifty-five years; that word is FAILURE.

"You can understand perfectly, if you give your mind to it"

There was no "science" in this quote but it's killing me right now.

Trying to work through my Reed Student Problems by writing them down

I've had a headache for 3 days.
I'm doing math problems in my dreams that never get solved. That don't exists.
I didn't turn in my problem set for linear. I have till Friday to finish it.
My problems are of a manageable scale but I cannot figure out how to manage them.
So I just feel guilty for crying on my bed about how trapped I feel.
And I read my write up of the Amanda Palmer show and I just can't deal with how much freer I felt then.
If I don't do this fucking physics problem set, if I take another two days on my linear, THERE WILL BE NO REPROCUSSIONS.
But it feels like the end of the world and I can't move past that.
When I sit up straight my back pops. My jaw is so tense.
Mental Breakdown Mondays are not as sustainable as Mental Breakdown Wednesdays.
I don't know who to talk to because everyone else has equal or larger problems and I am a fool.
Help.

Opera is So Punk-Rock

They're basically the same thing. The point of punk is that it creates this infection energy, channeling angst and confusing emotions into raw excitement and flailing. Opera is like that, but in your heart. And less punching.
Opera=Punk but prettier.

Most Incredible Dream

Chittick was a dormitory at a high school. It was having a party. People showed up tripping, and the CSOs took them away. I followed, and we all argued with the CSOs while trying to take care of them. Finally, the tripping people swam over a series of waterfalls while we watched. It was like they reclaimed their agency to do dangerous, powerful things.
Then it was the next morning and we were all eating breakfast together, talking about what our thesises would be.
I also got this weird snapshot of a trip, where blueberries and birds were in bubbles floating around the breakfast table. That was the transition to that event, so maybe that part of the dream was also in a trip.
It was beautiful. I spent a lot of the dream trying to comfort people and love them through the difference in head space. It was most strange.

2c-e Trip Report

I just wanna write this real quick because the trip reports I read before taking 2c-e were a) vague and pretty useless b) wrong.
I took 20 mg, from a gel cap that had melted to a piece of paper.
The take-away messages:
1) Least visual trip I've had. There were a few cool things, weird fractal shapes, trees looking like they had fallen from the sky, geese doing differential geometry, rainbows shooting out of things... but only towards the beginning and lasting about an hour or so. They also only really happened when I concentrated and cleared my head. Weirdly, no closed eye visuals, which was how my 4aco-dmt started. The come-up was a lot like 4aco-dmt, with the subtle shifts in perception but really intense body-high. Movement, eating, nausea, all really cool feelings. Mostly just ate hummus, yogurt, and carrots all day. Good choice.
2) All of the other trip reports talked about it being a really intense, introspective trip. I do feel like I learned a lot about myself and made loads of progress towards letting go of my past. So, it is accurate in that way. But it was not very self conscious at all. And it was definitely a choice. I went into it thinking, okay, set this day aside for personal growth. No, I was not be in a really intense self-reflective trance. Not like 25i at least. I
3) I tripped in "real life." My friend and I went to Alberta Street and walked around the shops and the stores. People tended not to notice that I was tripping. I also tried to be subtle about it, which could be frustrating at times. But the trip did not take away my ability to interact. All other drugs definitely have. However, early on, people definitely asked "are you okay?" sometimes. Alberta was like 4 hours in.
4) Lasted a good 12 hours. Definitely less intense at the end, but not totally back.
Mellow, long, good. I used to think that not tripping really hard was a waste of time. This proved me wrong. So, anyways, would recommend, would do again. Just don't believe all the other trip reports talking about how intense and isolating it was. I mean, it's good to be ready for that but they literally all said that so I wanted to make sure that there was a dissenting opinion out there. Ask me questions too, if you want. This is more of a public service announcement than a real trip report.

Batshit Crazy

So, Saturday night was a little weird.
It started super awesome. Hung out at Edith's while she made sushi, then ate the sushi. Spicy tuna handrolls, and then little rolls of rice topped with fish eggs and a quail yolk. 3 friends came over to share in the loot, which took 3 hours to produce.
S was there. I had been unhappy with how things were going for a little while now. So, that was kind of hard. When he left, he said that he didn't have his phone on him but I could come find him in the pool hall later. That just reinforced worries that I had about our power dynamic. It seems so innocent now, but it tasted like "here kitty kitty" then. Not sure how I would have rather been invited though.
When everyone had left, it was getting late. We watched videos of incredible circus acts with the farm house crowd, who I am coming to like more and more. Edith wanted to do honesty couch, and we were the only two people up.
It turned into a pretty serious discussion. Hardcore honesty.She feels that I don't include her enough in different projects. I don't take her seriously. She doesn't believe that the "leadership" style of do it all myself is the best way to do things.
All of this is reasonable, especially the last one. The first two I feel I have good excuses for. I suppose I can try to change it, but whether or not I take her seriously is built on over a year of data on our interactions, and I can't just decide to interpret her more seriously. I take her seriously when I think she's serious. I'm coming to realize that she masks her seriousness sometimes, but I think it's also up to her to be more honest with how she feels.  In terms of including her, I use basically the same criteria I use for everyone: if they are invested enough in participating, their participation will follow naturally. But I guess that is not how most people find themselves involved in things, so I should maybe follow up more. I generally find that the effort to get people involved doesn't pay off, so I might as well spend that effort doing it myself and at least not have lost anything. Edith says that shouldn't apply to her, and that's reasonable.
Though all of this was valuable talking, it made me agitated and defensive. At 1:22 am I explained that I really though I should go find S in the pool hall and make an attempt to convey my feelings. I wasn't looking forward to it.
I trekked up to the pool hall, shoulders pulled up to my ears and back rounded into a hunched mess of anxiety. I walked into the pool hall and saw him and some mutual friends. Two of them immediately accosted me in a fit of drunken affection. "Kiss me" "Julia, you're so pretty" "you look like a queen."
Needless to say, I was unprepared for such positive interactions. I made out with them for a while, relishing how easy it was to feel good again. Most of the time I am uncomfortable with being told I'm gorgeous and fascinating. It's a partially a holdover from high school, when I decided that if I didn't think of myself as beautiful I would be a better person. Weird logic, but I don't think it was entirely wrong. The compliments were also especially welcome since I wasn't wearing any makeup and did not feel particularly lovely that day. Well, friends are the answer.
I talked to S of course. I told him our interactions were becoming more and more negative for me. I felt like we hung out just to have sex too often. In retrospect, this is fairly inaccurate. Anyways, I worried that I liked him more than he liked me... etc.
He just said sorry sorry sorry you feel that way etc.
I didn't know what to do. I said "maybe this isn't a good idea."
He didn't argue. Just said he was sorry.
He said we should talk again when he wasn't drunk. I said we should hang out more when he wasn't drunk.
He went back to the pool hall. I punched a locker and swore. I put my face in my hands.
He came back out. He was going to sleep in the infoshop. I should have offered him my bed.
He held me for a moment and we talked a little more. He went to sleep. I felt a little less like I had lost something.
I went back to the pool hall. It was a hot mess of people actually shooting pool, people drinking franzia, people spilling franzia, yelling and laughing. Kissing. Singing along to the punk-rock jukebox that demanded quarters every few songs. People hitting on me.
I kept worrying about either Edith or S. I found it pretty easy to compartmentalize and enjoy myself when stimulated, but if my brain found a quiet moment the butterflies would swirl in tornado formation and I would feel like I had made a thousand stupid mistakes.
A couple highlights of the time between 2 am and 6 am.
Hickey contest on Corrine's neck. I won, in the moment. However, someone had understated talent. The bruise left by a physics senior with piano hands surfaced the next day with equally intense brownish amorphism. A rematch is clearly required.
Ray was Wasted. So Wasted. He kept coming over to talk to me and saying half a sentence and then looking really intensely at me. Or, he would speak with serious conviction for two words and then mumble and stare off into the distance and wiggle his head. "I really think that we mummghrum" "Do you remember... mmmmm...." "No, because... but the..." The highlight of his drunken foolery was when he tried to play pool using a huge push-broom. No one else saw because I was the only one facing that direction. I tried to explain the awesomeness of what was going on behind them but no one would listen.
I finished the bag of franzia because people kept giving Ray more booze and that was not okay. So, I got drunk at 4 am.
I made out with a beautiful person for a while. Outwardly beautiful at least, I don't know if I actually like him as a person. But, then I got sad because I just wanted it to be S. And I thought I'd just screwed that up. He noticed that I was sad, so we stopped. He also said "sometimes you just have to do what your lips tell you" and that was way too cheezy so...
I talked to a friend of S's from high school. He seems like a cool person. He said that he came to Reed partially because of S. He said he'd had trouble being friends with S since he got a phone call from him, tripping on acid, crying about how they were boring people. It was weird. Mostly weird that he found the idea of them being boring people so unusual. Who hasn't thought that all of they and all their friends lead boring meaningless lives?
Everyone split at 6. I went to the infoshop, thinking I could sleep there and wake up with S in the morning/afternoon and maybe talk again. But I was still drunk and couldn't sleep.
I walked home, but (in)conveniently forgot my swipe and scarf in the infoshop. I had to wake Em up to let me in, but she has no memory of the incident so I think I'm forgiven.
In the morning he gave me back my scarf and swipe. We joked a bit, and I apologized. He said that it was his fault if I felt that way.
We'll see how it goes.

Burning My Past

In a nice follow up to the removal of the manacles on my wrist, I was using my journal (2010-2012) as a candleholder/symbol, and I learned an important lesson.
Symbols don't always emerge unscathed.
The candles burnt down while I was washing down a bottle of champagne with some wine and hookah, and the journal started burning. Maybe a quarter of the way down.
These are the first lines. They're not burned. Half of them are written in mirror script, because my family was with me for my first voyage with it and I was paranoid that they would read it. I thought every other line in mirror script would be even harder to read. Anyways, I call it "a tank barrier mocking the vines" There are still open pages, I'll keep filling it even though it's injured.

"The object of the game is to tell a story and then believe it. I just lost all 5 games, with scientific accuracy and masochistic visuals  But that's a story  I won't believe. The reminders of exactly who  and where I am supposed to be have been unfortunately misplaced."

I cried a bit, but I can still read some of it. I will try to transcribe more later, maybe.

For now, I have a paper on breakdown theory to write. I am a fucking pro on breakdowns, so it should be no problem.
Love,
Julia.

No One Understands My Life

Least of all me. For goodness sake I just wrote a poem. A poem. 
But forget that.
Something most momentous happened!
My wrist is naked. I cut off my bracelet from Southside 2011, from Oregon Country Fair 2012, a dinosaur sillyband, a hairband, and a Turk's Head.
How did this happen? Why did I undo my fetishes? How did I let go of my past?
Drugs. 2c-e.
Which was a good trip. A great trip.
Anyways, I'd tried to take them off a week or two ago. I thought it was pathetic to still want reminders of who I used to be. I couldn't do it though.
What I needed was to find those people in me again. To feel like I was a whole and not a bunch of pieces trying to stay together. And that was what Saturday taught me, with the help of some 2c-e.
They're off! I'm free! I'm me! My physics problem set only took half an hour so I have 3 more hours than usual to write silly little tidbits of life onto the internet!
My friend and I will go throw pots in the pottery studio. That will be nice.
She thinks the boy isn't good for me. I'm not sure if we're good for eachother. I don't know if he gives a shit about me, if he likes me, if he's attracted to me, if he's as much to blame for our awkward conversations as I am... fuck. I don't know how to ask him anything anyways.
I'm worried I'm hanging on to this because I like so much to be involved.
I don't even have time to see people I like. I am not in control of my life, my homework runs me.
This is confusing with respect to my new-found selfness. All of this is contradicting.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm better at math than physics.
I know more and more why I like myself but less and less why others do.

Azimuthal Learning

The shortest path between points
on a sphere
on a longitudinal line
doesn't follow the line

There are no shortcuts
The angles of this triangle sum to less than 180 degrees
We are always climbing out

Are you the problem
Are they numbered on a page
Who is solving

Everything is folding and changing shape

How are things with you two?
I dunno, his phone was dead today

Like goose manifolds, shifting in the sky
Too tired to lead, to desperate to stop

Plot plot plot

A Night of Drunken Foolishness. Like all of the others.

I just returned to Chittick after a lovely hour and a half of booty poppin' KRRC times with people who have much better rhythm than I.
A night of drunken foolishness will begin, just as soon as my champagne gets here.
But last week there was a night of drunken foolishness too. I've been drinking less since I've found my digestive system appreciates temperance, but I'm rediscovering the joy of booze.
My best friend moved out of Chittick. It's for the best, but I miss skipping down the hall in my pajamas and being able to hop onto her bed. I miss walking through my dorm and seeing people I really love. They've all pretty much booked it out. Liana left first week, Eric spends most of his time with his girlfriend, Edith doesn't want to be here anymore.
Whatever, as I said, all for the best.
But I helped her move her stuff and it was torture.
Early that morning I had tried to hang around. I figured she would need help. But I couldn't deal with it so I left and walked around for 3 hours. I went all the way to Hawthorne and told myself a crazy story about becoming an international counterculture diplomat. The whole thing was in Spanish. One of the best daydreams in recent history. Took my mind off of shit. When I got there I bought a pendulum for Edith, and lipstick for me (a color I had bought but immediately lost, to my great dissappointment. Portland Black Lipstick Company "Undead Red" Super recommend.) I thought these things would make it right. The pendulum might be good for her.
Anyways, I came back and cried a bit to Liana. I gave the pendulum to Edith, and showed her how to ask her questions. The idea of a pendulum is that you ask it which way is yes, and it spins or oscillates somehow. Then you ask it which way is no, and it will do something different. Then you ask it questions. It seems like she needs that sometimes. It's a part of my hippy heritage, don't judge me.
Then we packed, and I suffered. She didn't realize how bad it was I guess, but I don't know how she could have missed it. Anyways, eventually I said I would take the one big load down but then she needed to find someone else because it was torture for me. She understood. We drove down to the farm house and started unloading. Her house helped.
I took a box down to her room, in the basement. The light was awful, it had a tiny window. I couldn't understand what was so bad that she left me for this. Lyle tried to talk to me. Finally Sam asked "how are you doing" and that was the last straw and I left crying.
Edith came out and said that we should go to froz yog. I said "I don't really want to cry in the middle of a froz yog place." We got in my car and headed out. It ran out of gas and we rolled it into a side street. Walked back pretty quietly. I said "It's not that I have a problem with you leaving, you know, it just sucks." I think it helped her to hear that, and it helped me to say it. I had wasted a lot of effort trying to figure out why I was so fucking torn up about this.
She made some jokes as we headed back.
Later, with 3 kinds of fireworks (1 in hand, 1 in pocket, 1 in my mouth (on a stick but in my mouth)), we crossed the blue bridge heading to a party. As we walked there, I started drinking from her bottle of Fireball. I felt every problem evaporate immediately. We hit the Hbizz as the cops had just left, and Andrew was standing nervously by the door. We offered him fireworks and his face lit up. Then he thought pragmatically and decided it was best not to give the cops a reason to come back. We did the little snappy ones that my uncle sent me in the mail. First we were just pulling the strings on both sides and BAM. Then I was sucking on one of the threads you pulled, and realized I could pop it with one hand and my teeth. BAM. Next to my cheek. So exhilarating.
New party. They guy I wrote the missed connection to a million years ago is running around the world for a while, so he had a going away party. Also, a friend is dropping out and heading back to the bay to join a circus. So, joint bye-bye-bonanza! They were playing 1000 white cards or something? Anyways, I had to pretend to be a goblin. So I wandered around on the ground saying "ooohoohohoohooooooOOOOOooooo" and biting people's calves. I was a little tipsy.
Not that I have a lot of memories of that night. Okay, this wasn't quite what I expected to write. But in 15 minutes I'm going to be wandering around the canyon with a lovely person who I want to get to know better, and we will share my champagne. Then it will be debauchery all night.
Fuck the police.

Night Blogging is Anticlimactic

Sometimes Thursday nights bring together everything that is most difficult about school. Stress, failure, procrastination.
And the dumb thing is, I did at least 10 hours of homework today.
And I still feel like I've failed.
I pretty much finished two problem sets. But that doesn't give me anywhere near the feeling of accomplishment that actually finishing them would give me.
I'll finish math in the morning. Then a Mardi Gras party at 10. Then it's Renn Fayre Theme unveiling at midnight the day after. Maybe I'll find that boy sometime tomorrow. And the next day.
So, at least my bitching about homework and weakness turned into hopefulness.
I swear, all I have wanted to do all week was bitch about how dumb my work was.
At least I got a perfect score on the first problem set. 20/20. First time ever. Last time ever.
Whatever. Night blogging is only a good idea... is rarely a good idea. Clearly a bad idea in this case.
I wrote the opera review. I hope they like me enough to bring me back regularly.
I've started saying roe instead of p and omega instead of w. Have been doing too much physics.
What is this.

A Midweek Weekend /Or/ True Vacation Day 2

I offered to drive them down to Corvallis, or at least to the truck stop they wanted to hitchhike from. I suppose I might have robbed them of some adventure by taking them all the way to Eugene in one fell swoop, but I couldn't help myself. I like being useful, of course, but I selfishly wanted to spend another day with the anarchists.

It was cold and wet, they might have been rained on.

The trip began inauspiciously with the catastrophe of having forgotten the garbage bag full of reclaimed bagels. The rest of the drive is a blur of charming revolutionary chants, such as "ADD DTF." 

Someone was saving their adderall for later in the trip. 

With last night's homemade mead still imposing it's dastardly nausea on my stomach, I watched the rest of our merry band nibble on french fries. Seduced by their golden aura, I got some too. Braving the vengeance of my hangover,we trotted off through Eugene. Suddenly it was sleeting on us and we took shelter under the awning of the Bijou. We waited until the icy onslaught had abated, and clomped through the snow. I had just repainted my left cowboy boot, the green bird replaced with a sprawling brown spider (I'm maturing, you see). Something in the snow ate at the spider, however. The rest of the paint stayed on fine, but the body of the spider pealed off and showed the bright green of the old design. Just the spider's body.

I'm not sure if I'm nostalgic for the old paint. It was definitely a fixture. My dormie asked what I would take from my room if I could only take one thing. I said my boots. I couldn't think of anything else. But they have a strange draw.

Honestly, when I describe why Eugene was one of the best days of break, I say that I laughed all day. And that's true. There was nothing particularly special about the cafe we sat in, the sweet milky black tea that we drank, or the sleet evaporating from S's hat. I just laughed.
What's really strange is that I barely spoke. I'm not an introvert. I have a large presence, usually. But I didn't have much to say and I was hungover and I don't know anything about the multiple Maoist sects in Portland. But I just sat there and laughed till my abs hurt. It was fantastic.

~Unfinished post and now it's been too long to really recap the rest of the day/night. We exchanged horrific stories from high school and heard what happens when you follow a meth-head home at 2 am. ~