[timehascomeagain]

Where the hell is that poem by that welsh poet about laika…………

[protocol-enjoyer]

wait wiat i think i have it in a screnshoot wait this is my moment ive been saving screenshots for years i have hundreds of them and they be useful, wether god likes it or not

[protocol-enjoyer]

ok this is not the one but hey look another laika poem:

[onesentencemusings]

Johnathan Harker: Oh my God, I am a prisoner in this wretched castle! Nothing but prey for that bewildering Dracula fellow! There is no hope for me but to pray I arise no suspicion in Dracula so I may delay the inevitable.

Dracula, washing Johnathan’s dishes: This is going great. I’m gonna get a good grade in being human, which is both normal to want and possible to achieve.

[hellomelancholic]

First episodes of audio drama podcasts be like what’s up I’m GAY i live in a TOWN and I just saw a GHOST

[shucktsubo]

[sawasawako-archived]

thinking about how orpheus turning to look back at eurydice isn’t a sign of mortal frailness but a sign of love

[meduseld]

“Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?” ― Ovid, Metamorphoses

[dean-winchesters-clit]

This is true no matter the version you're reading.

1. Eurydice trips and Orpheus turns to help her because he loves her.

2. Orpheus cannot hear Eurydice behind him, and fearing that he's been tricked, turns to make sure she's there.

3. Orpheus makes it out of the Underworld, and so full of love and excitement to be with Eurydice, turns to embrace her, forgetting that they both need to be out of the Underworld.

No matter what happens in the story, Orpheus loses Eurydice because his love for her compels him to look.

[wildefluorescent]

Orpheus, I can forgive you, then, There’s not a soul alive who wouldn’t have looked back

The Descent, by Tyler King

[princesssarisa]

Don’t forget Gluck’s opera, where Eurydice doesn’t know Orpheus is forbidden to look back, Orpheus is also forbidden to tell her, she assumes he must not love her anymore, and Orpheus finally looks back to reassure her of his love because he can’t bear her anguish.

In that version in particular, but possibly in all retellings, a part of us wants Orpheus to look back, because his failure proves his love.

[sturmhond]

“I don’t realize it until I speak it. And it’s different from the times I’ve said it before, or the way I’ve hoped it, as if dreaming something enough could birth it into being. I know it now with a certainty that has fitted into the lost core at the heart of me, as hard and angular as my hope was soft and shimmering. The King will not have me.”

(Natasha Ngan, Girls of Paper and Fire)

[ancientgreeksuggestions]

If you don’t have actual wings to escape Crete with your son, home-made is fine

[classics-suggestion]

No It Isn’t

[subjuggulation]

it is if your son isn’t an idiot

[lucysunderground]

mythology moodboard || calypso

Nymph of the island of Ogygia Daughter to the Titan Atlas

[kiyokospeaks]

Death of the author feels like such a white take tbh

[kiyokospeaks]

“it doesn’t matter that this author was blatantly and violently racist and homophobic because the author is dead uwu”

[shoefaced-deactivated20210321]

Honestly, death of the author is a concept that is used incorrectly quite a bit. It’s meant to mean “It doesn’t matter if the author had [x] intentions because the text itself and the reader’s interpretation of it matter more than what the author intends.”

So, if an author is not intending to be racist or homophobic, death of the author means their work can still be racist and homophobic if that is what the text portrays to the readers. Whether the author meant it or not.

The intent of the author, no matter how benign, does not change what is on the page. And if the page is full of bias and prejudice, then it’s biased and prejudiced.

[shoefaced-deactivated20210321]

I always see people use “Death of the Author” in defense of a text when the author is dubious. But they forget that it goes the other way around, too. An author’s intent, religion, gender, time period, etc. don’t change the fact that their text contains elements that may be viewed by readers as indefensible.

Death of the Author is also not an excuse to defend creators from criticism outside of their literary work. “Miku made this” is not Death of the Author. It has nothing to do with interpreting a literary work and everything to do with absolving yourself from the guilt of continuing to support an author who is a horrible person.

[fitzgeraldquotes]

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Debutante

[heedra]

not to invoke jk rowlings dead horse in the year 2019 but hogwardts house quizzes are always like: “You find five pence on the ground. What do you do?” A. I STEAL it and then i find the person who lost it and I bribe them for more. B. I immediately run halfway across the globe and punch a shark to return it. god i love being brave.

C. I am too busy STUDYING and LEARNING to think of things like that.

D. [reasonable answer a human being might give]

[finelythreadedsky]

the myth of persephone is about the trauma of the separation of mothers and daughters by marriage and this is the hill i will die on

[finelythreadedsky]

To be clear I’m not against retellings that reinterpret the relationship between Hades and Persephone and present it as consensual and healthy– I do think there’s something incredibly powerful about looking at a story that’s been passed down to us through millennia about a girl being kidnapped and raped and saying “no. No, that’s not the kind of story I want to hear, that’s not the kind of story I want to tell, and that’s certainly not the kind of story I want my daughters to grow up on.” (Although I think it’s disappointing that these are now the only sorts of Persephone retellings we get, and at this point it’s really not a particularly revolutionary take, given how often it’s been done.)

But I also think we do a great disservice to the women of the ancient world by not remembering how this story, in that form, mirrored their very real pain. I’ve been thinking recently about how we can tell that women participated in the formation of their culture’s folklore because women’s trauma is embedded in it. (In Greek terms, the stories of Leto and Alcmene very clearly come out of women’s traumatic experiences with childbirth, and there are elements of women’s traumatic experiences of sexual assault embedded in, for example, the stories of Daphne or Callisto or Artemis and Actaeon) And the story of Persephone comes out of women’s experiences of being permanently separated from their mothers and daughters at marriage. (See also this post from @gardenvarietycrime.​)

For an ancient woman sending her daughter off to be married, knowing that she will see her only rarely and that the odds of death in childbirth were high, Persephone meant something. For an ancient girl leaving her mother and her entire world for a man she may never have met knowing the same, Persephone meant something. I do think a lot of the conflation of death and marriage in the ancient world comes out of this: that a girl is dead to her mother and her family whether she leaves them to go to a husband’s house or the house of Hades. Maybe it’s a consolation to know that someone else has done this before you, to know that a goddess once lost her daughter and a goddess once lost her mother the same way you are losing yours. And that they survived it.

Essentially I think we need to remember that this myth (like all myths and all folklore) is not necessarily entirely the product of men, that women’s voices and women’s trauma remain embedded in it despite all of our written sources being men’s tellings of the story. And when we retell it we risk losing those voices if we are not careful and if we dismiss the myth as it survives today as solely men’s version of the story.

[celadontides]

Caer Ibormeith: Celtic Goddess of Dreams

[deuxarabesques]

my absolute favourite poem

[birnamwood]

i have no words except i’m not sorry

[mahitoluvr]

(x)

[dukeofbookingham-deactivated202]

[littlestpersimmon]

Haliya was a warrior goddess who would wear a mask of gold to hide her beauty. 

 In Philippine Mythology, Haliya was the name of a lunar goddess. She was said to be so beautiful that the sea goddess Bakunawa fell in love with her and sought her affections.