An Addendum to the Summation

On a separate, less negative note, I did become far more proficient in the study of the past and connecting it to the present this past semester. There were three big things that Dr. Sexson even brought up in class (to my great joy): the oddities of marriage in the classical period, the archetypal character, and of course the Hermes-Stewie connection. It has been fun, good luck to you all on the final exam, and on your next semester.

A Summation

What have I learned this semester from this class? Well, for one, I have learned that blogging is a habit I just can't get into, way too easy to just forget all about it. This of course means that this kid right here has no where near enough blog posts. Seeing as how the blog counts as 25% of our final grade, I am sure that this isn't a wonderful position to be in. Oh well. I lived it, even if I didn't always write about it. That's the important part. It may not result in the best grade, but after having a number of profs that wanted me to limit myself and say what they wanted to hear, I have come to terms with the fact that what is best for me and what is best for my grade are not always the same, and I certainly value my life more than an A.

I lived the classics. Maybe not as much at the beginning, but at the end. The changes in Ovid matched changes in my own life, and the hectic nature of Euripides certainly mirrored some things I was going through (though not nearly to the extent he portrayed, thank God).

I wouldn't say I value the classical time period and its literature more than I did before. I have know it was important, and had read more than the average kid my age in that area, but I do believe that there is fallacy to the oft-repeated statement of how all of the present traces back to the past. I believe in originality, and being unique, and I live life to be that way. Maybe certain aspects go back to then, but not all of it. However, the greater fault lies in stopping where we do, with the Greeks and Romans. We never are pushed to realize that they were far from original themselves. Numerous cultures rose and fell before and during their time, and influenced them dramatically. Far older cultures with far older literature are just as marked by their immediacy to events today. The classics are not the beginning of everything; they fall prey to the past just as much as we do today.

This sounds like a lot of negativity, which it isn't meant to be. We read some fun, interesting stuff, to be sure. I just don't get so wrapped up in their be-all, end-all status that we are lead to hold them as. The works of classical Greece and Rome are like the works of today: some are good, some aren't, and they amount to each person what the individual reader takes away from them. So it goes.

A DIALOGUE

Luke: I wrote a summation blog (as our teacher asked us to) and I'm wondering if it is bad that I totally cripple any pretense of me thinking that the classics are super special shit.

Meghan: How so? What did you say? It is super special shit.

Luke: (chuckling) No it isn't. No more so than anything else that has ever been written. It has some good stuff, some whatever stuff, no different than literature today.

Meghan: Yeah (pause) But it's still super special shit...

Luke: To be fair, you've said yourself people make a big deal of every surviving piece of classical literature being super important, but it doesn't have to be[NOTE: Meghan is a classicist. She majored in what we just studied for a semester].

Meghan: Yeah...I know...

Luke's Symposium Speech

This is the speech I gave as part of my group's bit about the Symposium. Eagle-eyed readers may notice that this is a simple reworking of a blog I wrote way back on Valentine's Day. Hope you enjoyed hearing it. I certainly know that blabbering about love in front of a bunch of people was embarrassing and awkward on this end, hopefully it was better for you.

Love is. No matter what it is, it always is. And it is always strong. So called "weak love" is a fallacy. It is love or it is not. And while I wish I could address all its many forms, I fear I can't. Therefore, I will stick with the one that harkens to me most: romantic love. I won't pretend to be an expert at it. I can't imagine I'm even all that great at expressing it, in word or in action, but it draws one like nothing else on earth can.

Love is stunning. Just when you think you've got it figured out, it branches out and surprises you all over again. If you haven't lived it, you can't know what it is like, and this will fall on deaf ears, but I'll try to explain it a little bit.

Why do we desire love, worship love, exalt love to the highest reaches, or even, to put it simply, why do we love love? It is all the little moments. Love is the little things. The first kiss. The second kiss. Every kiss. The times when she can't stop crying and all you can do is hold her, whisper that it will be okay, and then go cry after she is gone, because it was so horrible to see her hurting like that. Spending money on movies you watch but never see. Being scared as hell when you meet her parents. Finding out her parents actually like you. Finding out that her parents have stopped liking you.

Love is bittersweet. When you are standing at the airport, and you have to leave, but she has to stay, and they have called your row four times and are about to close the doors, but you need one last hug, a quick touch of your hand to wipe away her tears, and then one last kiss before you run to the plane, knowing that if you look back you won't be able to leave. Long phone calls when you are far away, desperately clutching the phone and wishing it was her hand you were holding instead.

Love is without a language of its own. Words fall short every time. You can't describe the perfect smile, even though you see it every time she looks your way. The blue in her eyes is not any shade known to man, and no one sees that blue but you. The soft sigh of contentment as she falls asleep curled up next to you, safe in your arms. The sweetest laugh as you tell yet another joke that is funny to no one else.

Love is silly. Your dumb little jokes, your mushy moments that nauseate everyone near by. Drawing hearts all over packages to embarrass the other when he has to pick them up at the front desk. Random bouts of flirting. Fake fights.

Love is for the young, but age isn't measured in years. It's measured in emotion. Love makes you young, love keeps you young, and with love you never need to fear death, because you will never die. It's true. Love never ends. It is a forever thing that you get once and never again, and if you screw it up, you don't always get a second chance. But when you have it, and when you can keep it, there is no greater feeling in the world.

Love isn't easy. It can lead to arguments, sadness, the whole affliction. But we love love. Because it never is just about the bad. It is about the good. It never hurts more than it heals.

"Why Is Luke's Term Paper Not On His Blog?", What Is There Instead (It Could Be Cool!), and What You Can Do About It!

WHY IS LUKE'S TERM PAPER NOT ON HIS BLOG?

The simple answer is that he is an author, or at least is working at becoming one. As an author young in career experience, as well as publications, every new publication counts. Most publishers ask for what is know as First American Rights, which basically means that they claim the rights to publish your story (Yes, I wrote a story) for the first time in America, be it on paper or electronically. By posting a story to my blog, I forfeit the right to first American publication, as the story is now up for any one to see. Publishers are hesitant to charge for something that can be found for free, with the knowledge that people like free things. Therefore, in the future interests of my career as a published author, I refrain from posting the story here.

This may seem to be based around the arrogant assumption that I think my story is so good that publishers of short stories will fight over my story, and I must protect it. This, however is not the case. Were I to publish the story on my blog (which I effectively do by posting it), no matter how I polish the story, fix it, work to make it perfect, unless I make story-altering, plot-changing edits to my story, it remains something that people won't want to publish.

This is all a long-winded way of saying, Yes, I am not putting my story up here, I am becoming the type of person I made fun of, and I apologize.

WHAT IS ON THIS BLOG INSTEAD OF YOUR STORY?

Along with my story, I was told to write a page or two explanation of the whys and hows. That is inserted here:

The above story is a creative adaptation of the story of Pyramus and Thisbe found in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The story is a forerunner to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, with two lovers that will both commit suicide, one on failed assumptions, and the other because of the first’s mistaken attempt to join their love in death. The story has a powerful resonance, leading me to want to adapt it over any of the other stories found in Ovid’s greatest work.

The myths of the classical world are found embedded all throughout modern culture, and the motto of our class, “All that is past possesses the present,” strikes that same exact note. Yet these immortal tales are falling out of the direct consciousness of larger body of the population. They are reliving the stories without noticing them all around them.

Almost 150 years ago, Thomas Bullfinch noticed this, and created the first book of what was to become Bullfinch’s Mythology. He wanted to create a book of these stories for the masses, a reference for those that don’t have the time to study the tales and learn their nuances, but that want to know these stories that they live with and that suffuse their art, literature, and world. His work became just that, but it has aged, with the stylistically plain prose and the censoring for the audience of Bullfinch’s day making the tales far less than they could be.

To that end I, an author, wanted to update this wonderful idea. I feel that the modern world needs a new book of mythology, one that is up-to-date and accessible, but that still keeps true to the story, and establishes the main themes and emotions with a deep integrity to and respect for the original tales.

From that initial inspiration, I needed to simply begin the process. I studied and read over Ovid’s Metamorphoses (Ted Hughes’ version, Tales From Ovid), and found the story that gripped me most, the story that truly expressed beauty but also drove a dagger into the heart, wrenching it as Ovid was so capable of doing. The one that stuck out most was the simple tale of Pyramus and Thisbe. Love is an obsession of mine, its truth and beauty and wonder, and this tale had that. After multiple rereading of this particular story, I had the basic framework of the story in mind, and set to writing.

The above story is the result. I took the framework, adapted it to my own style, yet did my best to retain all of the pertinent details, from Thisbe’s anger towards the crack followed by her change of heart, to the gods’ (in the story, there is more of a focus of the “thunderous” voice of the thunder god, Zeus) pity for Thisbe and the resulting color of the mulberries. I also tried to maintain the mood of the story, from hope to sadness, yet I also wanted to draw in the audience immediately with a powerful beginning, and decided to set the entire story during the time Thisbe bleeds to death. While this is a slight change from the structure of Ovid’s version, it fits the exact framework, and changes no major details of the tale. The only part of the story not lifted directly from the source is the anecdote from their childhood. The story as Ovid tells it simply mentions that the two were childhood friends. I felt that showing a very short example of the friendship would be more powerful than an overbearing narrator’s voice stating that it was so and moving on.

The experience was rewarding, allowing me to feel into new levels of the story, and was, as I had hoped, fun. However, the goal, beyond enjoyment, was to write a story that people would like. While that may seem obvious, it is vital to the goal stated at the beginning, and one that hopefully this tale is the first step in reaching. This story is the beginning of bringing the immortal stories of gods and heroes, and the people that lived with them, to a public that is slowly forgetting about them. It is the start of a renaissance, one that will remind us of where we came from, in the hopes that it will let us better understand where we are going.

WHAT CAN YOU DO ABOUT LUKE'S STORY NOT BEING ONLINE?

If you are curious about what I wrote (and listening to me talk about it and read an excerpt from it for my presentation on Wednesday doesn't dash this curiosity) and you would like to read the complete story, I am happy to let you read it. I want my work to be read, I just want to also be able to make a little money off of it down the road, as well as help build a name for myself with my writing. Simply leave a comment to this post, or send me an email at lukehf@gmail.com and I will be more than happy to provide you with a copy. I appreciate your patience and understanding in this matter, and I hope you enjoy my presentation!

GROUP ONE!

I've been in and out of the loop the past week. Have we figured out a time to get together or anything yet? Let me know: lukehf@gmail.com

We need to get going!

An Imaginary Life: Relationships to Texts and Today

Publius Ovidius Naso wrote his greatest work on Change. The Metamorphoses revolves around every type and variation of change Ovid could compile into his large work. David Malouf’s fictional account of Ovid’s time in exile reflects the theme that ran through Ovid’s most famous work vibrantly. An Imaginary Life, due to the nature of its protagonist, obviously has close ties to Ovid’s Metamorphoses, the poet being the main character. However, the ties go far deeper than that.

Of immediate notice is the lyrical voice throughout the novel. While still very much prose, the words and sentences flow off the page and, when spoken aloud, slither through the air with grace almost equal to Ovid’s own poetic verse. The elegant yet simple way of telling Ovid’s story lends Malouf a tone very much mythic in feel, just as Ovid’s work portrayed the myths of his culture.
However, the truest tie, the one that binds the tightest, is the change inherent in Malouf and Ovid. Malouf portrays in his novel the metamorphosis of Ovid. “Slowly I begin the final metamorphosis. I must drive out my old self and let the universe in” (96). Ovid arrives at Tomis a civilized Roman, attuned to society and the Roman way of life, but, with help from the intervention of a feral child, Ovid changes into a new sort of man, one far closer to nature and the universe. As Ovid lies dying, he reaches the pinnacle of his naturalization, feeling one with the earth around him. Having moved as far from his previous life as he possibly could have, Ovid has lived through the last of his metamorphoses.

This novel truly brings the methods and ideologies of the classical time period into today, humanizing and familiarizing ideas and people that have taken almost mythological status in modern times. It is through works of a more modern sensibility that one can find any immediacy and modern day important in the works of greats thousands of years removed. Perhaps Ovid’s final change will bring us all closer to discovering the truth found in all myths, all cultures, and all lives.

Apology, Authors, and Maybe More!

First, sorry about the two week break. First spring break, then my girlfriend came up for a week. Yes, the girlfriend I have written about a couple times. We have to spend this one year apart, as she is finishing up her last year of her degree (In Classical Studies, of all things. Yes, I have a little outside help for this class) at Ohio University. I last saw her around the beginning of 2009. All this (potentially excessive) personal note is here for is to explain that, having not seen the girl of my dreams in about three months, there was no way in hell I was going to get much of anything done. I'll claim that I was living the words spoken in the Symposium and at the very least feel slightly better about not being totally with it, for this class if no other. Anyways...

I did some research into the backgrounds of two authors pivotal to our class, both being from the present day, oddly enough.

Ted Hughes seems like a rather odd duck. His wife kills herself by stove. His lover (whom he cheated on his wife with and had one child by him) murders their child then kills herself the same way Hughes' wife, Sylvia Plath, did. Hughes marries a second wife, and cheats on her with numerous other women. Hughes' other child, a son, fights clinical depression and then commits suicide. Very unhappy and dark.

David Malouf led a far less socially noteworthy life, but one far less filled with tragedy. While it seems some of his views have been called racist towards the indigenous peoples of Australia, he has been otherwise uncontroversial. Apparently a very private man, he enjoys solitude, anonymity, and feels it is ridiculous to view him as a role model.

Also, a very intruiging essay on An Imaginary Life.

Next Up: One Pager Time!

We Laugh So That We Don't...

First, a disclaimer: I am not heartless. I do feel sympathy in the right situations. I am not evil. I also hope to avoid getting in trouble for saying what might not be a well loved statement, although I have a feeling that maybe some of you will agree with me.

In class on Wednesday, we watched a couple scenes from Trojan Women. Dr. Sexson noted how we all laughed at Andromache's howl of anguish so that we didn't cry, and sat rapt through her speech as it tugged at our hearts.

Well...

I didn't laugh not to cry. I laughed because I found it all ridiculous.

Sorry.

That wail of pain just didn't do it for me. You can't fake one, and a faked one won't work for anyone who has heard a real one. And the speeches, they too fall short. My complaint throughout reading Euripides' Trojan Women was that it was filled with long, declamatory statements, each person working through an eloquent soliloquy in the midst of their tragedy. Anyone who has ever been in a horrific situation, who has suffered through adverse conditions, who has ever had such a shock to their moral centers as might replicate, in part or whole, what these woman went through in the play, knows that grief is not readily expressed that way. You don't create these contrived monologues. You don't even finish sentences. No one would relate these ridiculously long bits in real life in a situation like that. Euripides' play is extravagantly excessive and not even remotely convincing. This was not a problem for a comedic play such as Lysistrata, but for a play that wants to be taken seriously, it rings false and destroys any sense of reality. Far from bowing down to Euripides' ability to be at the heart of tragedy, I question his right to any such claim, and cry out the falseness of his asinine depiction of this horrendous occurrence.

Doesn't everyone love when the college student goes, "Well, if I had written _____, I would have _____," because at that students young age and level of experience, he certainly knows better than the author known for thousands of years. Well, as always, I love to go against that sort of thing, and so, what would I do if I had written Trojan Women? I would have had fragments of sentences, incomplete dialogue, scrambled, nonsensical nonsense that only the grief-stricken know how to babble, and then I would have doused it all with aching, horrifying, heart-wrenching sobs. I would let you witness the complete breakdown of a woman who lost everything. That is more emotional, more traumatizing, than any long speech will ever be, in my eyes at least.

Flyting and "Shakespeare is Dirty"?

Flyting. Fun. My story:

ME: "That is so stupid!"
HER: "I'm not stupid!"
ME: "I didn't say you were, your actions are!"
HER: "My actions define me!"
ME: "Dammit, don't be an idiot..."
HER: "Quit calling me names!"
ME: "But you're being such a bitch, and I haven't done anything!"
HER: "You ASSHOLE!"
ME: "But you're being a bitch...I..."
HER: "Jerk! What is wrong with you? You are being such an asshole!"
ME: "What happened to no name calling?"
HER: "Your being an asshole, you deserve it!"
ME: "Just...just...you're being a bitch! You are such a jerk, what did I do?"
HER: "You are being horrible! All day, such an asshole, such a jerk, well now I'm mad! I'm mad Luke! I'm mad!"
ME: (busts out laughing uncontrollably) "You're mad?" (laughing harder) "Thanks for letting me know." (snicker)
HER: "But...I'm mad...don't joke..." (giggling) "I'm just so..." (more giggling) "...mad at you, you asshole...stop laughing..." (giggle)
ME: (mock offended) "I'm not an asshole!"
HER: (still giggling) "Yes you are, you asshole!"

Yeah, it ended well. This happened a while ago.

As to Dr. Sexson's mention of Shakespearean insults, I have two comments:
1) My girlfriend bought me "Shakespearean Insult Gum." So awesome. Gum and Shakespearean insults go together surprisingly and hilariously well.
2) I have a copy of a wonderful book, Filthy Shakespeare by Pauline Kiernan, that is full of sexual puns found in Shakespeare's plays. It will give you a very descriptive idea of what was meant when Dr. Sexson said Shakespeare could be "obscene."

Love--Part 3

Comments on class:

Since obscene actions happen less and less off stage, can we change the B to an N?

"Love is not having what you desire," or something similar was said today. Socrates said that love was desire, and desire doesn't exist when you have what you want. Love is far from just desire. Lust is desire. But not love. I'm not saying that desire can't lead to and be a part of love, but it is far from all of it, far from the most important part. Desire can certainly be an aspect. I desire my girlfriend. Most of you probably instantly took that as in a physical sense, and that is part of it. She's pretty, what can I say :) But that isn't what I want most. I desire her mind. The thought-provoking conversations are wonderful. Talking about the big things and sharing our thoughts. I desire her sense of humor, and her really lame jokes. And her smiles, I desire those mroe than almost anything. Thing is, I have everything I desire, but I love her more than ever. I'm going to straight up say what I know a few of you want to: Socrates was wrong!

As to Dr. Sexson's revelation that people weren't really fused initially, and then split to find their other half, I have this to say: I had the scars from this separation, right up there in my mind and my heart, till I found the matching ones. Aristophones was dead right. Just because the fusions wasn't literal doesn't mean Aristophones' lovely little fable isn't true in the less physical realm. I sure feel it is.

It was so sad that only one person got to explain that they had seen someone beautiful. I had such a happy answer picked out!

Love--Part 2

After an attempt to write my contribution, if I had been a member of the party imortilized by Plato, I found some other neat things about the Symposium. First, something I found humerous. The "Very Squashed" version of the Symposium:

"We were all a bit drunk at Agathon's house, and decided to talk about Love.Phaedrus said: Not birth, nor wealth, nor honours, nor aught else shall so inspire a man as Love. There is none so base but that Love may breathe into him the spirit of a hero. Therefore I say that, of all the gods, Love is the eldest and the most to be honoured.Pausanias said: There is more than one Love. Vulgar love is worthless, inconsistent and fleeting; but the love of the virtuous character abides throughout life.Aristophanes said: I have a theory that the gods split us in halves, and each each of us is always looking for his other half. Some seek the opposite sex to love, some seek the same (men who seek men are especially valiant and fine) but all are really craving to become one, soul and body.Agathon: These are loves gifts, but the God of Love himself is the youngest and the swiftest, since he outstrips in flight old age. Said Socrates: Is Love of something lacking? The prophetess Diotima told me that Love is not a mortal, nor a god. Love, in reality is of every good, not of just missing things or desired things.Aristodemus fell asleep, and woke to find Socrates, Aristophanes and Agathon still talking and drinking."

The very intricate nature of the Symposium, stories weaved into stories, is examined further at this site, while an in-depth analysis of Socrates' response when his turn came around (which it seemed a few people I talked to liked, thus I searched for this in particular) can be discovered here. I was particularly struck by "Plato's Symposium reveals love, like wisdom, to be a dynamic, a flow of energy that operates throughout all the levels of human awareness, uniting and transcending or fragmenting and descending as it flows. There are latent possibilities in different kinds of love to either pull us up to Socrates' unified and ultimate good in the world of Being, or to pull us down into a dense, fragmented experience of the forms. When Diotema asks Socrates what is it that one desires when one loves, the answer is immortality, union with the eternal, and though we see divinity in all of life, it is contained in various forms which can often corrupt of distort it, as well as accurately reflect it."

And, finally, Aristophanes. I mentioned before that his was my favorite answer of the bunch. The beauty inherent in finding your other half, the other piece to make you whole, is simply awe-isnpiring. It is a beautiful idea, and feels more truthful than any of the rest to me. Love is all about finding your other half, and joining the two fragments to make the whole that is more than the sum of its parts.

"I won't forget time spent laying by her side..."

We were asked "What is love?" We were asked if there was even an answer to that question. At the suggestion of my girlfriend, I read Plato's Symposium a while back, and it is filled with interesting attempts at answering, in particular Aristophanes' tale of of finding your other half, which is both beautiful as well as most accurate, in my opinion. In the vein of the the members of Agathon's famous party, I shall provide my best answer to the ancient questions.

Love is. No matter what it is, it always is. And it is always strong. So called "weak love" is a fallacy. It is love or it is not. And while I wish I could address all its many forms, I fear I can't. Therefore, I will stick with the one that harkens to me most: romantic love. I won't pretend to be an expert at it. I can't imagine I'm even all that great at expressing it, in word or in action, but it draws one like nothing else on earth can.

Love is stunning. Just when you think you've got it figured out, it branches out and surprises you all over again. If you haven't lived it, you can't know what it is like, and this blog will fall on deaf ears, but in hopes of making it make a little more sense for you, let me use my life and my current relationship as an example. This is me getting really personal in a way I don't like to in hopes of enriching someone, so the second I catch shit from anyone about this, there will be hell to pay. To my dear sweet Meg, I know you'll read this eventually, I hope it doesn't upset you too terribly.

I've spent most of Valentine's Day mad. Mad as hell. Deeply sad. Hurt. Rocking a pretty solid headache at the moment as well. We have been fighting most of the day. Stupid things, but then again they always are. To make a very long story short, while microwaving something, she shorted out half of her apartment, and the damage done requires an actual electrician to fix. Seeing as how this is the second time this week she lost power, she was understandably upset. However, she was more upset than I thought was necessary, just pissed and not able to focus it, and so I told her over the phone that it was fine, no big deal, that she needed to calm down because she was yelling at me when she was mad about the power, and that we should just calm down and talk about it. This is generally not the smartest of plans, to tell a girl she is flying off the handle for no major reason.

As fights between people in a relationship tend to go, the main reason for the start of the unhappy feelings is quickly lost, and old wounds are re-bled. Sadly, the most vicious fights are with the ones who know where to dig the best. Things got worse, feelings were hurt, the same conflict between man and woman that has existed forever. She left, spent most of the day with her apartment-mate, and I got very little time with her. All the special Valentine's Day plans were shot.

Moral: Sometimes, love can be a bitch.

"It's a broken kind of feeling."

Yet, if that were all, why would we desire love, worship love, exalt love to the highest reaches, or even, to put it simply, why would we love love? It is for all the other moments. The first kiss. The second kiss. The third kiss. Every kiss. The times when she can't stop crying and all you can do is hold her, whisper that it will be okay, and then go cry after she is gone, because it was so horrible to see her hurting like that. Spending money on movies you watch but never see. Being scared as hell when you meet her parents. Finding out her parents actually like you. Finding out that her parents have stopped liking you.

Love is bittersweet. When you are standing at the airport, and you have to leave, but she has to stay, and they have called your row four times and are about to close the doors, but you need one last hug, a quick touch of your hand to wipe away her tears, and then one last kiss before you run to the plane, knowing that if you look back you won't be able to leave. Long phone calls when you are far away, desperately clutching the phone and wishing it was her hand you were holding instead.

Love is without a language of its own. Words fall short every time. You can't describe the perfect smile, even though you see it every time she looks your way. The blue in her eyes is not any shade known to man, and no one sees that blue but you. The soft sigh of contentment as she falls asleep curled up next to you, safe in your arms. The sweetest laugh as you tell yet another joke that is funny to no one else.

Love is silly. That's right, silly. Your dumb little jokes, your mushy moments that nauseate everyone near by. Drawing hearts all over packages to embarrass the other when he has to pick them up at the front desk. Random bouts of flirting. Fake fights, with such horrible methods needed to reach forgiveness ("Wait, you mean you don't love me?" "Jerk!" "But isn't that what you said?" "You know it wasn't!" "You hurt my feelings. But I know how you can make it up to me." "How?" "A kiss.").

Love is for the young, but age isn't measured in years. It's measured in emotion. Love makes you young, love keeps you young, and with love you never need to fear death, because you will never die. It's true. Love never ends. It is a forever thing that you get once and never again, and if you fuck it up, you don't always get a second chance. But when you have it, and when you can keep it, there is no greater feeling in the world.

Love isn't easy. It can lead to arguments, sadness, the whole affliction. But we love love. Because it never is just about the bad. It is about the good. It never hurts more than it heals. Yes, I was rather mad at the beginning of this, but the magic of love heals all wounds, and now, not much later, I am better. Because, through it all, love never wavers. It is never diminished by anger. I can be as mad as anyone can get at my girlfriend, but through it all I love her no less, nor does she love me any less. Love is forever.

"What is love?" For me, Love is a girl named Meghan Jane Dudley. She is all of the above. She is my everything. And that, Dr. Sexson, class, world, is the answer to "What is love?"

"Given To Fly," or, Myths of the Modern

Modern myth-makers abound, creating tales that inpsire, challenge, confound, and disturb us. Among the greatest are Pearl Jam, with their dense, powerful lyrics and songs of epic proportions. One of their greatest songs is just such a modern myth, "Given to Fly." According to Eddie Vedder, "[I imagined the song as] a 20-page cardboard (children's) book with a line on each page and a picture to go with it. It's a fable, that's all." [Article.] In the powerful words, a new myth is created, of a man who is given gifts, and shares them with the world. As he is hurt for giving, he does not become angry at the world, and instead continues to give his love to everyone. Corny? Cheesy? Powerful. This song is buried in the ideals and concepts of myth, full of what gives them their power, and proves that classic works don't exist solely in the past. Hear it, and let its life roll over you.

Hermes = Stewie?

I only have a few minutes, but am I the only person to note that there is a very famous, mischievious child known to college students the world over? Hermes is at it again, a la Family Guy.

For more on this, see Shauni's post.

Ἰσμήνη

She walked up to the man.

"Do you seek death? Do you mock it? I will not waver."

She stared into his eyes, her gaze seeping into his resolve. "I seek it no more than any."

"Then leave him for the scavengers." Exasperated.

"He is my brother. What he has done does not change that."

The man looks at her. Just a girl, yet so brash. "Then what are you here for? What is it you want?"

"I want to make a bargain. I want my brother buried. You want to be the strong ruler, who doesn't make exceptions for anyone, and holds a firm grip on the control over his people. This can be achieved."

"How?"

"My sister wants the same as I, but she won't bargain. She was always the headstrong one. I will coax her into attempting a burial. You stop her, punish her, then feel compassion for her cause. You let my brother remain buried, and yet you showed that you will enforce your decrees."

"If the plan doesn't go exactly according to plan, I have to go through with the rest as ruler, and that may result in unwelcome consequences."

"Just play your part, and it will be fine. Do a good job and I will lavish you with treasures...very special treasures."

The man was interested. "What sort of treasures do you speak of?"

Ismene leaned in and kissed him. "Just do what I said, and you will find out."

Her suggestive grin disappeared as she turned away from him. Of all the men I have to fool, she thought, it has to be that ugly creep. But with Antigone out of the way...

Dream a Little Dream of Me

Ideas brought up in Miss Riley's post on dreams intrigued me. Many of the concepts she postulates remind me of the theories of C. G. Jung, in particular his thoughts on a species memory, or collective unconscious, in relation to myths and dreams. For more on Carl Gustav Jung, see this wonderful page that has what is quite possibly every single piece of information you will ever need to know about the man and his thoughts. Of particular interest to those intrigued by mythology, his work Man and His Symbols is of particular interest. For more on dream theory, also see the thoughts and works of one of Jung's companions, Sigmund Freud, and his work The Interpretation of Dreams (complete text here).

If dreams are from a collective unconscious, a gestalt mind compiled by every living person, are not myths the same? Both contain facts and non-facts, both reach to be greater than we are or ever can be, and both can feel far more real than the "truth" we learn in textbooks. Humans are emotional beings, despite how far we strive to be solely rational (and here and here). We love, we hate, we anger, we sadden, we sorrow, we pity, we empathize, we do a whole host of irrational things in an irrational manner and then attempt to justify them and feel rational.

Accepting the irrational is the way to truth. Human minds, human hearts, human souls, these are not made up of numbers and scientific facts. They are made up of hopes and dreams, thoughts and emotions, feelings of both joy and sadness. Sometimes human lives don't make a whole hell of a lot of sense, so why should how we think? Why must the rational control the lives of irrational beings? Set free the dreams, unshackle the myths, and soar. Even if, like Icarus, you fall from the sky and die in the attempt, you will still be remembered forever.

Do These Jeans Make My Butt Look Fat?

Inspired by class discussion today, and the question posed of "How can you tell the truth in a statement like the one above?" I provide an answer my father overheard a couple years ago:

"Do these jeans make my butt look fat?"
"Don't blame it on the jeans."

Ouch.

A New Life/Death

"Persephone is like a mortal woman entering into marriage, which the Greeks often compared to death" (Murnaghan xvi). A creepy idea, to say the least. What could have compelled this view? Did the myth lead to the comparison, or the comparison to the myth?

As you enter into a new, married life, one must give up certain things. The trade off, what's given versus what is gained, is more than fair, and for most a worth while situation. Yet, irrevocablly, irreconcialibly, things change. Once married, the person no longer has the same priorities, and certain things become far more important than they once were. The freedom, the independence, while still there, is of another form altogether. As Persephone is led into the abyss of the underworld, she is dying. Her life as a single woman is over. It has died, making it pertinant that she went where the dead go. Eating Hades' seed, she became mortal and lost her innocence. Marriage is death.

Yet did the Greeks feel that marriage was just that? Was marriage nothing but death? What about the new life, the birth of a new you--a different you, obviously, but still you--that arises from marriage? I don't know, and research hasn't been as effective as I would like (see "Ancient Greek Wedding" and "Greek Marriage"), but I can't help but feel that death couldn't have been all. How could a culture flourish that equated morbidity with marriage?

Murnaghan, Sheila. "Introduction." Homeric Hymns. Sarah Ruden. Indianoapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc, 2005. vii-xxiii.

Links to Other Pages

These are currently listed in the order I received the emails, not including mine, which you obviously found. Once more people are set up, I can rearrange them alphabetically. If you aren't here and should be, let me know.

Kayla Kitchens
Jacky Allen
Alyssa Waters
Ben Miller
Rachel Kester
Maggie Franquemont
Nicholas Axline
Jeremy Sarren
Shoni Schipman
Misaki Omura
Zachary Morris
Daniel Cassidy
Vernice Mullet
Shauni Bowles
Bizz Browning
Brittany Richardson
Kristin Sing
Abbie Bandstra
Jillian Stacy Papel
Jenny Lynn Stanley
Christina Nelson
Sarah Burke
Sam Stoddard
Erica Killham
Elizabeth Riley (official note taker)
Chloe Bjorklund
Rio Gonzalez (including pages from Steiner's Antigones sections)
Anne Belcourt
Heather Kahly
Deborah Brenna
Crystal Tetzels
Caitlin Murphey
Grace Basirico
Sam Roloff
Kris Drummond
Brian Kelly Zwiefelhofer
Shelby Soule
Katie Potter (official note taker)
Sally Knox
Zachary Smith
Stacey Hickman