⬇️POOL FULL OF SHARKS⬇️
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⬇️POOL FULL OF SHARKS⬇️
thinking about how orpheus turning to look back at eurydice isn’t a sign of mortal frailness but a sign of love
“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
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.
Someone in the comments brought up the fact that they personally don't like the story because Orpheus was set up to fail.
Yeah.
He was. He was always going to fail at his task. It doesn't matter how Eurydice got down to hell; gods were involved, and Hades could not let her return to the surface, not even for a moment. The whole point is that Orpheus could never succeed, he knew it was an impossible task, but he tried anyway. He went down into the underworld for her. Whatever failings he may have had as a lover to her in life, he risked everything to save her.
"Oh, it's just human weakness and mistrust, if he would've trusted her it would've been fine, that's the whole point of the story, to have faith and trust your wife."
No.
The whole point of the story is loving someone in the face of your own mistakes, loving someone despite danger, loving someone even though you know you can't save them. It's about sticking with them until the very end, and passing into a world they can't follow you into. They never could. You know that.
And it's tragic. It's loss. It's pain. We often think we can save someone through love, but you just can't. Take that to apply to anything you like: addiction, terminal illness, whatever it is that tears you away from someone slowly.
The trying matters. It matters to you, it matters to your loved one. They know you tried. They know you couldn't win - but that hope that maybe this time, the story will end differently... that makes those last moments together matter even more.
hiiii cleo darling ! i've been looking for short stories to read lately & i trust you taste hehe. do you have any favorites?
hellooo alastair !!! i am not very well versed in short stories honestly but here are some 💗
the library of babel is one of my all time favorites.. its about a man that lives in a universe that is composed of an infinite library that contains every possible book in existence. it’s about finding order in chaos and fractals and hope and it’s a very interesting read
lena is something i read this morning about a man whose consciousness is uploaded into a computer simulation. it touches on immortality and deathlessness, the ethics of ai, and digital ghosts!
the ones who walk away from omelas by le guin is about utilitarianism and dualities it poses some complex moral questions about what we are willing to sacrifice for our happiness and if it is possible to live a life without having to make a trade off for our survival over someone else’s suffering
this is a very short list but i hope you enjoy also all of borges’ short stories are so good i highly recommend checking them out 💗💗💗
Annie Dillard, Teaching a Stone to Talk
i think about this poem every day
A Year Later, I Still Can't Stop Thinking About Disco Elysium by Renata Price
Costume sketches for Tyler Durden by "Fight Club" costume designer Michael Kaplan
Devour
hey can i tell you a secret? i was really bad at chess. and the person who was teaching me would let me get pretty far into the game, because it helped me see how long a mistake could echo into the little frames of a space.
i was kissing you then. you had your head tilted up against my wall because i hadn't gotten a bedframe yet and i was sleeping on the mattress on the floor and it was hurting my back like how my back still-hurts now. i told you i'd kiss him but i can't because it'd ruin our friendship but you and i were friends that kissed. i just liked the size of his hands and how he'd let me fuck up so badly at chess.
can i tell you a secret? i haven't been writing, ever since you turned around and walked out. i was holding a paint can when i found out. i wish i had dropped it and it had splashed dramatically all over the floor and swished green onto the walls and over my hands and over everything but. i set it down as gently as you're supposed to set down paint and i marveled for a second at the indented parabola it left in my palm and how gosh isn't it funny that things always get heavier closer to the floor?
hey can i tell you a secret - this one is a really big secret so watch out. okay. so. i forgot where we buried our dogs. i know they're in the back yard. i don't remember because i didn't help the burial process and i need to feel something physically in order to remember it.
you said once your hair was a color they never put into poetry. fucked up that at one point i heard something inside of me say she'll play you like a bow string. ha! that felt ominous! you and i were friends-that-kissed. fucked up that we all have pictures together of us dancing, and in them, we are all laughing, and the secret that was between us wasn't wrapped up in the pixels of the thing. fucked up the secret was just a question neither of us addressed - are you sure you're really just-friends?
how odd, to be kept. there are many things i've written about wanting to devour, about being devoured, about hunger, about the insatiable.
it was worse, to be your secret. it was worse, you know, to be kept in the palm of your hand, and only ever sampled, have what-i-want lapping at my throat. there is an anticlimax when you do not drown in the public pool. you just come up, shivering, and the world continues around you. it is worse when they know who you are and their heart is open and raw and you are just simply not-food-enough. they're so empty, but you're too full of sinew and bone.
i'm here, you want to say. i'm here. god, please. make me your home.
“An “angel” is anything that carries out a mission for God. This includes forces of nature. […] Photosynthesis? That’s an angel. Gravity? An angel. Magnetism? Angel. The Midrash in Bereishis Rabbah (chapter 1) says than an angel only performs one job. That job doesn’t have to be destroying Sodom; it could be peristalsis, centripetal force or condensation.”
— Rabbi Jack Abramowitz, Angels (via he-harim)
Joy Harjo in the September/October 2021 issue of Poets & Writers Magazine.
[image text:
A poem is a kind of map and/or mapping. There’s the literal aspect, as in oral cultures in which song-poems might embody star maps or escape maps. A map shows you a location, shows you where you are and possible destinations. Lines are roads. Images are destinations. Water and earth are concrete. Fire and air are insight and idea. Then we wind up someplace familiar, but we’d never heard it this way before.]
Mohja Kahf, "Most Wanted", Hagar Poems
texts between angels trying to live as mortals by keaton st. james
A really talented astrophysicist who’s a pioneer in their field and is incredibly intelligent and constantly making breakthroughs but everytime they make a dissertation they end it with “but that’s just a theory…” and all of the other scientists hate them so much but they can’t do anything about it because they’re so good at science
haikyuu is just so…. there are so many pairings and each has a different dynamic and each dynamic is just so intriguing and complex and beautiful? domestic parents daisuga, childhood friends mutual pining iwaoi, childhood friends kuroken but diff from iwaoi (I don’t have to explain that), fanon enemies to lovers sakuatsu, soft asanoya, loyal deep romance bokuaka, outcast-but-not-to-me ushiten, lesbians in the sausage party anime kiyoyachi, lemon boy by cavetown tsukkiyama, rival best friend soulmates kagehina ?? ????? it’s insane to me. plus a found family from each school with its own dynamics. plus everyone in the fandom is so sweet bc everyone understands the SHEER CAPACITY for pairings and stories just…. wow….
me as an nhl reporter in a post-game press interview: so do you agree that feeling the most secure touching each other while wearing literal armour is a metaphor for the human condition? your vulnerability in these goal celebrations is offset by the fact that you aren’t actually physically touching each other; you literally can’t touch each other, and this is the only time you try. does that fact ever make you reflect on your relationships with your teammates? would you so gleefully have held him if he’d achieved a victory in his personal life, off the ice? in his home? the padding protects you in more ways than one, does it not? isn’t this the nature of human connection, played out on television screens like a soap opera? don’t you think we all watch because we want to hold our friends after their successes and console them after our losses but feel blocked by their armour? by our own?
the nhl player who just physically exerted himself for a full hour who’s still out of breath and sweating and only picked up 1/5th of what i just said: uhhhh, wh— well, it’s a team effort out there, we, uhh, give it 110%—