Lord Byron

Canto First
I.
The Gods of old are silent on their shore,
Since the great Pan expired, and through the roar
Of the Ionian waters broke a dread
Voice which proclaimed "the Mighty Pan is dead."
How much died with him ! false or true --- the dream
Was beautiful which peopled every stream
With more than finny tenants, and adorned
The woods and waters with coy nymphs that scorned
Pursuing Deities, or in the embrace
Of gods brought forth the high heroic race
Whose names are on the hills and o'er the seas.


This is an image of Aristomenes, courtesy of Life Magazine. In the image, Aristomenes fights his way out of siege in Eira, Messania during the Second Messenian War.

Thanks to Encyclopedia Brittanica, we know that Aristomenes was the "traditional hero of an unsuccessful revolt against the Spartans by the Messenians, who had been enslaved by Sparta in the 8th century bc. Although Aristomenes is probably a historical figure, his career has been heavily overlaid with legend; the standard version makes him a leader of a rebellion about 650 bc—the so-called Second Messenian War. After several victories he was betrayed by King Aristocrates of Arcadia at the battle of “the Great Trench.” For about 11 years he was besieged in Eira, Messenia. When the Spartans finally conquered that stronghold, Aristomenes escaped to live in exile on the island of Rhodes."

Sgéalai

Meaning: a professional storyteller

Ovid’s past possesses his present transformation:

As a poet from another place, another culture, another language, Ovid finds himself a stranger in the desolate land he describes in his letter. Feeling trapped and purposeless in a rudimentary world, Ovid’s only way out is to adapt to the system, learn how to exist in this new world. In the process of learning this new culture, Ovid ironically transforms himself. The process of transformation forces Ovid to look to his past and mentally resolve certain unresolved issues in his life. As he allows his ego to step aside and addresses his personal past, Ovid starts to see this world in a new light; he begins to understand the people who live in this world. By coming to terms with his past, Ovid experiences a transformation that allows him to make great progress in his understanding of the human life.

Ovid’s first experiences of Tomis are colorless and strange. To enter a world of which one knew nothing would be difficult. After all the progress made in developing into a man and learning to exist in a world, Ovid must go all the way back to square one. Unable to understand the language, Ovid resides in a very silent world. After many months in such a silence, he glimpses something recognizable to him. He spots a red poppy flower amidst a sea of corn stalks, which prompts him to hark back to his past world. Retelling the experience, he says, “Scarlet. A little wild poppy, of a red so sudden it made my blood stop. I kept saying the word over and over to myself, scarlet, as if the word, like the color, had escaped me till now . . . Poppy, scarlet poppy, flower of my far-off childhood . . . And with it all the other colors come flooding back, as magic syllables,” (31). He goes on to say, “I had to enter the silence to find a password that would release me from my own life,” (32). Ovid comes from a world of pleasure and privilege. It was likely very hard for him (and his ego) to let go of the desire to be privileged in his new world. Having been so released, Ovid has now begun his transformation.

As Ovid’s transformation ensues, he continually mentions a sensation he has that he has already had these experiences in one way or another. After racing through the burial grounds on horseback, Ovid writes, “Oddly enough as I weave back and forth between the towering forms I feel a moment of exhilaration, and am reminded of something—something that my mind just fails to grasp, as if all this had happened before,” (45). Later on as he sits with the Child, he writes, “I have found myself more and more often slipping back into my own childhood;” he continues, “I fall into some timeless place in myself where the past suddenly reoccurs in all its fullness, or is still in progress. I am there again,” (82). Ovid relates his experiences of anamnesis, recollecting information from his past that is relevant and that possesses his present.

Addressing the obstacles in his life allows Ovid to shut the door on something old and open it on something new. Though it is difficult for Ovid to readjust to a new, more rudimentary way of life, the transformation he is able to make helps him to make great progress in his life. Though he feels as if he is starting anew, he draws from a deep past without knowing it. Anamnesis is the recollection of things we already know but have simply forgotten. As Ovid takes on this new world and has new experiences, he realizes that he has already been here before. It’s the same old story that he must see from a new perspective in order to grow.

I can't help but think of . . .

Mowgli from The Jungle Book!
The Child = Mowgli

Definition: feral

feral

adjective
(esp. of an animal) in a wild state, esp. after escape from captivity or domestication

ORIGIN early 17th cent.: from Latin fera 'wild animal' (from ferus 'wild')

The Romantic Discourse: Bacchus & Aphrodite in the Same Room

Regarding the 7 thinkers of Plato's Symposium:
Phaedrus: "Love is a mighty god" and "the source of the greatest benefits to us" (Plato 6-7).

Pausanias: "Open loves are held to be more honorable than secret ones" (Plato 10).

Eryximachus: "Love is the reconciliation of opposites" (Plato 13).

Aristophanes: "Now there were these three sexes, because the sun, moon, and earth are three; and the man was originally the child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the man-woman of the moon, which is made up of sun and earth" (Plato 16).

Agathon: "Love is the fairest and best in himself, and the cause of what is fairest and best in all other things" (Plato 21).

Socrates: "Love is the love of the everlasting possession of the good," namely, the immortality of us and our ideas (Plato 29).

Alcibiades finally enters after what seems to have been an extended visit to the Bacchus Pub and, rather than discoursing on love, expresses his love for and attraction to Socrates (Plato 34-40).

--------------------------

I am interested in Pausanias' remark that i listed above. What is a "secret love"? If a love is secret then it must not be a love at all. This was my initial reaction because I could not understand how someone who was truly in love would be fully capable of keeping it a secret. But then, I thought of Romeo and Juliet, the true star-crossed lovers. They loved each other severely, severely enough to die for each other; was their love not honorable until they both died and made their love known? I think it was honorable even in secret. Yet I do see the premise of Pausanias' comment via my initial response.

I also noted Eryximachus' note that love is the "reconciliation of opposites" (Plato 13). The connection I am about to make is patent. In this statement, Eryximachus refers to the most critical of the five conflicts of opposition, the place where drama originates - the opposition between man and woman.

I really enjoyed Aristophanes' statement of the origin of the three sexes. You always hear about Mother Earth, but never Father Sun or Androgyne Moon. I think we should start referring to the sun and the moon in this way. I suppose it might not work in the framework of our culture, but it seems only fitting.

Lastly, I was most appalled by Socrates' opening words. It should not have come as much as a surprise since this is typically my reaction to Socrates; however, it surprised me yet again. He always makes very good arguments and succeeds in making them extremely apparent to all listeners/readers, but I cringe at the way he treats others. His tone is so mocking and arrogant. He says, "Whereas I see now that the intention was to attribute to love every species of greatness and glory, whether really belonging to him or not, without regard to truth or falsehood - that was not matter; for the original proposal seems to have been not that you should praise, but only that you should appear to praise him" (Plato 23). How rude.

Also, here's another website that I found interesting. Pretty simple, but it lays it all out.

http://academic.brooklyn.cuny.edu/classic/wilson/core/sympos.htm

Love is the love of something.

A Tree, A Rock, A Cloud

The old man in McCullers' story climbs the ladder of love by first learning to love a goldfish. I was intrigued by this because a goldfish is often one of the first loves of many a human being. Though we don't typically think about our first love in this way, it is in fact usually a goldfish, cat, tulip, dog, gerbil, or sibling (all the same). I remember learning to love my first cat, Captain Alex (the same one I wrote about in the pet dying post). I loved him right away, but my sister's learning process was somewhat more extended. In the middle of the night when she would take trips to the bathroom, Captain Alex used to attack her feet from his hiding place under the coffee table. I don't remember him doing it to me - just her; I think he loved attacking her in particular because she was so freaked out. She would go to all lengths to get past the coffee table without a scratch from Captain Alex; sometimes she would try climbing over the couch or walking on top of the coffee table, but he would always jump out and scare her. In the end, he quit scaring her at night and she learned to love him. She was pretty young at the time and getting him to pur was entertainment for a night.



I think about what it means to love a cloud as opposed to loving a tree or a rock. To love a cloud, I would watch it all day; I would watch it forget itself and reinvent itself, the process of anamnesis, the "perpetual process of loss and reparation" (Plato 30). I would love the cloud from a warm spot in the grass. So loving, in this sense, is peaceful looking.
To love a tree, I would feel the bark, smell and taste the sap. I would climb the tree as high as I could and swing from its boughs. I would share the tree with a friend; we would share our secrets with the tree and listen to his when the wind played on his leaves. So loving, in this sense, is listening, touching, tasting.
My idea of loving indulges the five senses, sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste. But this makes loving a self-indulging process. Is it? Do we love things merely for the enjoyment and satisfaction it provides to us? Do we love for ourselves rather than for others?

Socrates would say so; he posits that love is for the sake of immortality (Plato 31). I don't see love as a selfish act, however the manner in which I would love a tree, a rock, a cloud proves otherwise.

The Grape Etiquette: Advice for Drinking Parties

Thanks to a great site called Mobicapping Wine, I learned some basic wine tasting manners.

•1 Do not comment on the wine's characteristics until all tasters have been able to generate their own opinions.
•2 If you are a man, do not use after-shave. If you are a woman, do not wear exceedingly scented lotions or perfumes. For both genders, do not smoke. Any such miasma will surely hamper the other wine taster's ability to appreciate the wine's aromas.
•3 Do draw air into your mouth to better taste the wine. Although this may generate a funny gurgling sound, this is perfectly acceptable in the wine-tasting world.
•4 Do spit. Often there will be a designated cup or bucket for this exact purpose. If there is no designated cup or bucket, a drain or gravel floor is also allowable.

On Drinking

I found a journal entitled "Myth and Science around Gender and Sexuality: Eros and the Three Sexes in Plato's Symposium".

Here is the link: http://dio.sagepub.com.proxybz.lib.montana.edu/cgi/reprint/52/4/39

Note: If you are not accessing this from campus, you will need a library password (very easy to get if you don't already have one).

------------------
I also found an interesting Teaching Plan for the Symposium.
------------------

My Cat

I named my first cat Captain Alex.

My family lived in Paradise Valley in an A-frame house.
One day, I came home from school and I couldn't find Captain Alex.
He was usually somewhere sleeping, or he was out hunting mice.
When he didn't come home before my bed time, I was so sad.
I worried about him.
The next morning, I still couldn't find him.
My dad went out to look for him beside the highway. He wasn't there.

As I told you, we lived in an A-frame house. The second floor was smaller than the main floor and there was a large section of roof with a door leading out to it. In the summertimes, my sister and I used to have picnics on the roof. The door out to the roof housed Captain Alex's kitty door as well. He used to climb a diagonal beam that made half of the "A" on the A-frame in order to get up to the roof and his door.

That evening, my dad found him curled up at the base of his climbing beam. He looked like he had been hit by a car.
It was hard to know that he suffered after he had been hit, but it was nice to know that he tried to make it home.

At first, pets are just fun, cute, & cuddly. But then, you grow to love them and know their habits, their personalities. Losing a pet is like losing a friend. I can't imagine losing a sibling. My sister is one of the most amazing people in my life. She is my friend, my family, my teacher, my student. I spent a good 16 years of my life with her day in and day out.
I would do anything for her; I would even break the law for her.

My personal relationships are far more important to me than are my public relationships. I believe that this is true for most people. This is certainly the case for Antigone.

Here is a picture of my cat Thizzle. He's got a lot of personality. Thizzle loves to play. The other day, he caught and ate a mouse. Of course, as a gift, he saved the head for me and left it in the hallway.

Regarding Bad Days

What is a bad day?
A period of 24 hours in which a series of unfortunate events conspires.

I, myself, had a terrible day several weeks ago, and I have no idea why.
Nothing of note really went wrong.
It wasn't your typical bad day where you burn breakfast, lose your keys, and then later that afternoon slip and fall in the muddy parking lot after a two hour rain.
No, not that kind.
I really don't know what kind exactly.
Everything was happening as it did normally, but everything was more difficult than usual, more frustrating than usual. I missed my sister, I felt like I needed to be home, and I felt as though everyone was insulting me.
So really, it was a very weird, bad day because it was self-inflicted.
The reason I write this is because I was skeptical at first when Dr. Sexson implied that one could inflict a bad day on oneself.
I thought, well don't bad days just happen? Aren't they out of the power of our hands? . . . more externally formed? Plus, why on earth would you want to do that anyhow?
Of course I then realized that I had been the sole perpetrator of my bad day.
So I was the man I was looking for; I was Oedipus; I was Nixon.

Anna Livia

February 2nd: a notable day.
Dr. Sexson's Anniversary
Groundhog Day
James Joyce's birthday

I haven't read very much of James Joyce's work, but a few years ago, I memorized the last part of his novel Finnegan's Wake and fell in love with it.
At first, I detested it. I couldn't stand it because I couldn't memorize it. The progression of Joyce's sentences and seemingly incomplete thoughts did not easily lend itself to memory. After hearing it so many times, saying the words to myself over and over, I finally heard a musicality in his words. I heard the metre behind it all, the song behind each word. I guess it was through this music that I felt as though I understood what he was saying, and i loved it. And, after that, I memorized it easily. (But I must be weak of memory, as I can no longer tell you Joyce's story. I think, though, that it's not gone forever. I might be able to pull it out with a little work. Help me Mnemosyne.)

Here's the piece. Listen for the musicality.
Yes, you're changing, sonhusband, and 
you're turning, I can feel you, for a daughterwife from the hills 
again. Imlamaya. And she is coming. Swimming in my hindmoist. 
Diveltaking on me tail. Just a whisk brisk sly spry spink spank 
sprint of a thing theresomere, saultering. Saltarella come to her 
own. I pity your oldself I was used to. Now a younger's there. 
Try not to part! Be happy, dear ones! May I be wrong! For she'll 
be sweet for you as I was sweet when I came down out of me 
mother. My great blue bedroom, the air so quiet, scarce a cloud. 
In peace and silence. I could have stayed up there for always only. 
It's something fails us. First we feel. Then we fall. And let her rain 
now if she likes. Gently or strongly as she likes. Anyway let her 
rain for my time is come. I done me best when I was let. Think- 
ing always if I go all goes. A hundred cares, a tithe of troubles and 
is there one who understands me? One in a thousand of years of 
the nights? All me life I have been lived among them but now 
they are becoming lothed to me. And I am lothing their little 
warm tricks. And lothing their mean cosy turns. And all the 
greedy gushes out through their small souls. And all the lazy 
leaks down over their brash bodies. How small it's all! And me 
letting on to meself always. And lilting on all the time. I thought 
you were all glittering with the noblest of carriage. You're only 
a bumpkin. I thought you the great in all things, in guilt and in 
glory. You're but a puny. Home! My people were not their sort 
out beyond there so far as I can. For all the bold and bad and 
bleary they are blamed, the seahags. No! Nor for all our wild 
dances in all their wild din. I can seen meself among them, alla- 
niuvia pulchrabelled. How she was handsome, the wild Amazia, 
when she would seize to my other breast! And what is she weird, 
haughty Niluna, that she will snatch from my ownest hair! For 
'tis they are the stormies. Ho hang! Hang ho! And the clash of 
our cries till we spring to be free. Auravoles, they says, never heed 
of your name! But I'm loothing them that's here and all I lothe. 
Loonely in me loneness. For all their faults. I am passing out. O 
bitter ending! I'll slip away before they're up. They'll never see. 
Nor know. Nor miss me. And it's old and old it's sad and old it's 
sad and weary I go back to you, my cold father, my cold mad 
father, my cold mad feary father, till the near sight of the mere 
size of him, the moyles and moyles of it, moananoaning, makes me 
seasilt saltsick and I rush, my only, into your arms. I see them 
rising! Save me from those therrble prongs! Two more. Onetwo 
moremens more. So. Avelaval. My leaves have drifted from me. 
All. But one clings still. I'll bear it on me. To remind me of. Lff! 
So soft this morning, ours. Yes. Carry me along, taddy, like you 
done through the toy fair! If I seen him bearing down on me now 
under whitespread wings like he'd come from Arkangels, I sink 
I'd die down over his feet, humbly dumbly, only to washup. Yes, 
tid. There's where. First. We pass through grass behush the bush 
to. Whish! A gull. Gulls. Far calls. Coming, far! End here. Us 
then. Finn, again! Take. Bussoftlhee, mememormee! Till thous- 
endsthee. Lps. The keys to. Given! A way a lone a last a loved a 
long the

Orchestra

Wednesday, Dr. Sexson said that music was connected with sleep.

At night as I'm waiting to fall asleep, I sometimes hear music:
It's in my head,
but it sounds as if it's in my ears;
and it's so loud.

It sounds like a huge orchestra.
I love when it happens.
Some months, I hear it more often.

It's hard to explain it because it happens
right when I'm between
conscious and sleep state.

It's just this loud but beautiful noise.
It's never a song that I recognize,
and it's never the same.

Sometimes it lasts for just a moment
and sometimes it goes for a while,
but it always crescendos right before I actually transfer into sleep.

Hypnos: god of sleep

Eating Organic w/ Persephone & Paul Newman

Pomegranates are good for you according to the bottle of juice that I consumed today at lunch. I had a wonderfully rich Naked juice, full of not only pomegranates but also blueberries.

"Operation: Super Juice"
"No Added Sugar, No Preservatives, No Inhibitions."
The bottle also said, "SHAKE WELL! Separation is Natural".

As I drank my juice, with "1 lb. of fruit in every bottle", I couldn't help but think that for each single pomegranate seed Persephone ate, she was required to remain in the underworld for a full month. If I had been Persephone, the seasons would likely be much longer.

Look at this image of a pomegranate.



I'm no expert on the anatomy of the pomegranate, but this pomegranate seems to be divided into seven sections. Aside from that and the skin, it's all seeds. Every fruit has seeds, but few so many or so patent as the pomegranate.

By the way, eat organic. Pesticides are generally bad for you.

Regarding organic foods: Have you ever heard of Paul Newman? He co-founded Newman's Own Organics. The company makes all sorts of organic versions of well-known snacks like Oreos and Fig Newtons, except they've renamed them Newman-O's and Fig Newmans respectively. Of their many products, my personal favorite are the peanut butter cups covered in dark, rather than milk, chocolate.
Here is one version of Newman's Own Organic logo


.

Flower-faced Sister Kisses

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! 3 years old.






These beautiful flower-faced twins turned three the day these photographs were taken. Presents, cake, and of course kisses celebrate the beginning of their fourth year. I always think of a birthday as a step forward, the entry into something new. But birthdays in a literal sense are rather celebrations of a day in the past, specifically the day that marks the beginning of one's existence. Every year, most will indulge in parties and sweets to acknowledge their birthday.

It seems funny to celebrate the past, but we wouldn't be anywhere without it.

A note on kissing:
Girls kiss girls. Girls kiss boys. and Boys kiss boys. I've kissed one girl and a few boys. Also, in case you didn't know, there's all sorts of kissing methods: air kisses, kisses on the cheek, butterfly kisses, french kisses, eskimo kisses . . . the list goes on but we mustn't forget the dementor's kiss. A dementor's kiss though is most undesirable.
Most people like to kiss. Why? Likely because it's an expression of sexuality, a hearkening back to the myth of splitting one from another that Dr. Sexson related to us in class.

Reuse of Refuse

I decided to reuse a bit of refuse that I once created during my freshman year of college. Having not visited my blog in a few years, I admit it was most strange. I had only posted pictures, but the format I had used was somewhat callow.
So, to refurbish it a bit, I changed the format and deleted all of the posts, saving four pictures. The truth is, I wasn't willing to let them go (especially because I'm not sure if I have these images anywhere else); but the point is that sometimes it's hard to delete things, let them go.

I'm just trying to save some images I took, but I guess that means I'm holding on to the past; I'm letting it possess me so to speak. I don't think of myself as much of a pack rat, but I know for a fact that one of my best friends most definitely is. She hoards everything, everything that has any sort of consequence or interest to her whatsoever. I actually ran into her mom recently who informed me that twelve boxes were shipped home just before winter break. The contents were not the expected boots, coats, long underwear, but rather random postcards, french soaps, wrappers, doodles on yellow notepad paper, airplane soda cans, etc. I laughed as this is funny but not a surprise. Along the same lines, her mom would be absolutely (un)thrilled to know that there's a box of passed notes from seventh grade tucked under her bed. My friend despises letting things go. (Side note: Andy Warhol was quite the pack rat himself).

So what about you? I'm sure you keep and treasure certain things. I think everyone likes to hold on to certain objects. When you really think about it, it is very peculiar that we find ourselves so attached to the physical. I think we like to keep things because they allow us to remember things in a very tangible way.

archive- save