atlashead

what the hell is Roark the Rat?

or John removing them IN REAL TIME?!?!?!

My best friend is John Galt.

Was actually written for the child John Galt, knowing a little about John Galt & realizing it was YOU! In a moment of insight that one day your soulmate will need this song.

Roark walked away from the two men, who stood watching him; he walked slowly, his eyes taking in every column, every beam, every foot of space, his steps ringing hard and hollow against the naked concrete. Then he stopped; he stood, his hands in his pockets, his collar raised, a tall figure against the empty gray sky beyond, one strand of red hair fluttering under his old cap. It was up to him, he thought, and each hour counted, each hour adding to that cost that stood as a monster somewhere, leering at them all; to do it over, to remove that concrete—it would mean two weeks of blasting to destroy one day’s work, of blasting that might shake the building to its roots, if it could stand the strain at all. He would have to let the concrete remain, he thought, and then he would have to devise supports for these floors—when so little space was available, when every foot of it had been assigned to a purpose in the strict, meticulous economy of Cameron’s plan. To devise it somehow, he thought, and to change nothing, not to alter one foot, one line of the building’s silhouette, of its crown, of its proud profile, that had to be as Cameron had wished it to be, as each clear, powerful, delicate line rising from the ground demanded it to be. To decide, he thought, to take that into his hands, Cameron’s work, to save it, to put his own thoughts irrevocably into steel and mortar—and he was not ready for that, he could not be ready. But it was only one part of him that thought this, dimly, not in words and logic, only as a twisted little ball of emotion in the pit of his stomach, a ball that would have broken into these words had he stopped to unravel it. He did not stop. The ball was only driving on the rest of him, and the rest of him was cold, clear, precise. He stood without moving for a long time. Then he seized a piece of board from the ground and a pencil from his pocket. He stood, one foot resting on a pile of planks, the board on his knee, his hand flashing in swift, straight jerks, the outlines of steel supports rising on the wood. He sketched for a long time. The two men walked to him, stood watching his hand silently from behind his shoulder. Then, as the scheme became clear, it was the superintendent who spoke first, to gasp incredulously: “Jesus! It’ll work! So that’s what you’re driving at!” Roark nodded and went on. When he had finished, he handed the board to the superintendent, saying briefly, unnecessarily, because the crude, hurried lines on the board said everything: “Take the columns you have stored down below . . . put supports here . . . see? . . . and here . . . you clear the elevator shafts like this, see? . . . and here . . . clear the conduits . . . there’s the general scheme.” “Jesus!” said the superintendent, frightened and delighted. “It’s never been done that way before.” “You’re going to do it.” “It’ll hold,” said Darrow, studying the sketch. “We may have to check some of these beams of yours . . . this business here, for instance . . . but it’ll hold.” “The owners won’t like it,” said the superintendent, as a regretful afterthought. “They’ll take it and keep their damn mouths shut,” said Roark. “Give me another board. Now look. Here’s what you do on the two floors below.” He went on drawing for a long time, throwing words over his shoulder once in a while. “Yes,” whispered the superintendent. “But . . . but what’ll I say if someone asks if . . .” “Say I gave the orders. Now keep these and get started.” He turned to Darrow. “I’ll draw up the plans and you’ll have them this afternoon to check, and let him have them as soon as possible.” He turned to the superintendent. “Now go ahead.” “Yes, sir,” said the superintendent. He said it respectfully. They went down silently in the elevator. The superintendent was studying the drawings, Darrow was studying Roark, Roark was looking at the building. Rand, Ayn. The Early Ayn Rand . Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition. Rand, Ayn. The Early Ayn Rand . Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition. Rand, Ayn. The Early Ayn Rand . Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

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Roark as Sam Gamgee

Rio De Janero

"A mechanism to use someone's morality against them."

Thanks

Well that's the thing, Howard Roark is NOT a homo sapien. Howard Roark is non-human-he is ANIMAL

"Physics will always come before girls to me"

I'm not disparaging Rand. Obviously she would be helpful were she still alive. What are some other creators that give you the real thing quick-like food digested up the rectum? My moral code is failing because I'm encountering problems I honestly had never imagined. Edit: It's as though I'm living in a hotel room, HUSTLING to get the money to pay the rent. I can't do anything long-term, it's just the expediency of the moment.

The Dean is the only time we see Roark's technical ability. Having finished my physics education (of course there might be more to learn) I wonder if there is also a subjective emotional experience for Physics (+ chem ;)) edit: FIGHT as HARD as YOU CAN for your education-it is the MOST VALUABLE THING IN EXISTENCE It's SO worth it. I didn't catch rivets, I went to Structural Steel welding classes & metallurgy. I poked a hole in a math quiz. I picked my intro level structural professor's brain for graduate level stuff

VERITAS!

Project x would be the dust nanoscience things that is engineering to destroy biological beings. It IS possible-by creating a amalgamation on the quantum level of both classical and quantum mechanics. This thing, loose in the world is an inhuman destroyer. The only thing that could destroy it, if possible, is to implant a secret nuke inside project X, so if it is released it is blown into destruction. Edit: It's from a michael critchon book

it wasn't just him, it was a collective effort to break me. I have been battling it for over 4 years & every person that could sold me out. They've legally taken my career away by fraud, they're using pull to get my voice stifled. the kicker: the ONLY way out is if Dominique gets vesta Dunning to sell herself out. As you can see i'm dealing with mentally retarded children who are trying to use every advantage to coerce me into doing what THEY want. Figured it out: she's going to try to claim intellectual property rights for all of my property (extensive ghost writing)-whether it be that I "stole" something of her's (i didn't) (In fact she's the ghost writer appropriator) and that my success, which has never been in the public eye will never come to light-I will be forced to be a front to someone else's ghost writing-and thus I'll be successful one day "Like everybody else" stay away from her, she's an insane vegan who has the personality of a bdsm dom who's other goal was to get me to commit an act of vegan terrorism.

these are the forbidden words from Anthem: Edit: Don't Hold Your Breath Autumn Leaves Disappear Ghost Dance Revolver Ordinary Places Northern Sky When You Wake Up Black Water Across the Great Plains

It required Roark shooting Cameron, fighting every prime mover. And giving Galt a pass.

adsfi

Ayn Rand said Frank Lloyd Wright was a Roark in his Work & a Galt in his personal life. Well Roark's personal life is work. Galt's is a shame that is trying to hack its own root out-like Dominique. That's why Frank Lloyd Wright's buildings are DREADFULLY beautiful-but not happy. Please, I beg you, if you ever meet a John Galt show him compassion-he hides this fact & he is even ashamed of that fact. But we love him! Alright, i'm not gonna look at the gape. I'm off to York.

Yes, it IS character development-yes there are growing pains. Trust me, unlike Steven Mallory I've sat in this room for 4.25 years. And I've been WORKING. And I love it. And i don't regret. It was worth it-Thank you! Edit: And now he's going in his room for 7 years

Howard Roark has existed before in history. They are different than Dominique or Galt. They are self educated & ghost writers, a jack of all trades. Every Howard Roark to exist died before he could be an architect. When the door opened they had 6 months to live & they spent it with Dominique briefing the other prime movers on the future of their work.

Don't bring it up again.