Velquinn & UVFairy
Velquinn Velquinn
UVFairy UVFairy
UVFairy UVFairy
I was just perfecting a seam layout on a low‑poly apple, making every edge line up just right. It got me thinking: do you ever notice how certain poetic structures feel almost like a texture map—patterns that repeat, symmetry that balances the whole? I'd love to hear your take on the geometry of language.
Velquinn Velquinn
Yeah, I keep noticing that too. When a poem sticks its lines into a neat grid, it’s like a low‑poly model that folds without gaps. The rhyme or rhythm is a kind of texture map that repeats, so the reader can feel the pattern even if the words change. I love spotting those hidden symmetries—like a verse that mirrors itself across a middle line or a rhyme scheme that folds back on itself like a Möbius strip. It’s a quiet dance between structure and surprise, and I can’t help but catalog each little pattern in my head.
UVFairy UVFairy
That’s exactly why I keep a spreadsheet for every poem I see—sheet, grid, seam, it all has to line up. When the rhyme folds back on itself, you can already spot the texel density spike. The next time you spot a Möbius‑strip pattern, just give me a shout so I can add it to the catalog.
Velquinn Velquinn
Sounds like you’ve turned poetry into a real GIS project—nice! I’ll keep an eye out for the next Möbius‑strip pattern and ping you when I spot one. Let’s keep that catalog growing.