That's miss Snuggeries to you.

Marie, 18, classy, sassy, smart ass-y. ENTP. Enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness, stories and anecdotes, stars and galaxies, philosophy, and certain fandoms. Highly opinionated chronic procrastinator. Just your average over-achieving aspiring anthropologist, really.

This is my commonplace book: a compilation of things I like, and stuff I have written. Viewer discretion is advised.

RAVENCLAW
{ wear }

c-aesarion:

hodie-scolastica:

celzmccelz:

hodie-scolastica:

congenitalprogramming:

dedenne:

ultrafacts:

Source If you want more facts, follow Ultrafacts

which is even funnier because she’s the reason lesbians are called lesbians. she was know as sappho of lesbos and her poems were all about her love for women

no im totally not a lesbo my super actual husband is dick allcocks from man island i’m megahet

Can people stop erasing the fact that Sappho wrote poetry about her love for men too?  (She also wrote several poems where we don’t know the gender of the person she was talking about.)  If we’re going to apply anachronistic labels to people, can we at least not erase bisexuality?  Please?

Do we actually have any love poems directed to men where she names herself explicitly as the one in love? I don’t think we do (correct me if I’m wrong). Poems like “sweet mother, I cannot work the loom” may be written in the voice of another person. It’s really hard to tell since most of her stuff is so fragmentary. 

Huh.  I’ve never heard that argument before.  You may well have a point.  I went back through my copy of Sappho and have come up with precisely two poems where one could argue that she names herself as the/a person in love: “Deathless Aphrodite of the spangled mind” (Sappho 1) and “I simply want to be dead” (Sappho 94).  In both cases the object of her affections is female.  So no, I guess we don’t have any directed to men where she names herself as the subject.

Leaving out what are most likely wedding songs, I found two that are about men: “Sweet mother, I cannot work the loom” (Sappho 102) and “For the man who is beautiful is beautiful to see” (Sappho 50).  Either one could be in someone else’s voice and “For the man” isn’t necessarily romantic or sexual, depending on the word “beautiful.”  That said, two things I want to bring up: 1) there are a whole lot of poems where the object of the speakers affection could be of any gender and 2) if the argument is going to be made that these particular poems could be written in someone else’s voice (which it should), it needs to be said that the same argument could and should be made about most of her other poetry, which includes several poems that are frequently used to support the point that Sappho was attracted to women.  As you said, the fragmentary nature of her work doesn’t help.

To be honest, I’m mostly just sick of the “lesbian or straight” attitude that seems to prevail here.  (You know, leaving aside the anachronism of applying modern sexual orientations here. *grins*)  Bisexuality exists, dammit!  You don’t have to erase it to point out the stupidity of inventing a male lover for this awesome lady.

Hey guys- I hope you don’t mind if I interject. I see the arguments above and understand their merits, but would like to interject with some important thoughts of mine regarding sexuality in the Ancient world to consider. I will start, however, by stating that I don’t know you guys particularity well, so I don’t know your experience with the matter, so please don’t see anything I write as intending to be malicious or condescending. I simply would like to contribute some additional thought.

It is frequently seen in our conception of ancient civilizations and their customs to assign our very modern labels to sexuality. Just as is the case with many things- the society of the Greeks was so removed from our own that many aspects of it, especially regarding the aspects of it which  popular culture frequently ignores, would be very alien to us if we were to encounter them.

I see that as being the case with sexuality. Firstly, in order to understand Ancient Greek sexuality we must remove the modern understandings of desire, love, affection, and partnership. This can be the hardest part for many of us, but it is healthy to engage in this act of conceptualization. It can actually be impossible in most aspects to truly understand the setting under which any relationship took place.  

I like to use pederasty as an example for this. What, today, would we say to describe an older man having sex with a young (perhaps 13 year old) boy? Pedophilia. Yet in Ancient Athens and other poli (we have evidence of such in Macedon and Megara at least) it was (to our knowledge) a frequently practice and honored tradition, if practiced a particular way. Alternatively- marriage should be seen in most cases an economic union. How does this explain the frequently labeled bisexual Alexander the Great’s apparent love for his wife Roxanne? How do we explain the thoughts and desires of people which lived by a totally different moral, ethical, and religious code from modern experiences?

It is most tempting to use figures like Sappho and Alexander as icons for our modern assignments of sexual preferences, but in reality- the feelings of these ancients are beyond what we will ever know because we simply don’t have the introspection into people to create an accurate study. So are out of our depths to argue Sappho was a lesbian. 

Additionally to this- we are relying almost entirely as using her poetic works as bibliographical evidence. This is a VERY precarious ledge to be balancing on, especially in the world of ancient lyric. Other authors, such as Archilocus, are suspected to write in a persona! We know almost nothing for Sappho’s performance- but imagine the difference it would make! It is highly unlikely that her surviving poetry was only intended to be read by the recipient- yet we don’t know!

So, i’ll conclude with this: to argue the preferences of ancient authors and icons is tempting, and not necessarily without utility, but it all must be taken with a grain of salt. Our knowledge to the minds of ancients is simply too limited and our station so removed. So while we should celebrate a somewhat open view on sexuality in comparison to some places in modern times, we must err on the side of caution.  

“It is not enough, however, to repeat the empty affirmation that the author has disappeared. For the same reason, it is not enough to keep repeating that God and man have died a common death. Instead, we must locate the space left empty by the author’s disappearance, follow the distribution of gaps and breaches, and watch for the openings this disappearance uncovers.”

Michel Foucault, “What Is An Author?” (via heteroglossia)

4 days ago with 73 notes

949
misswendyd:

Pointed, brilliant, and perfect.

misswendyd:

Pointed, brilliant, and perfect.

edwardspoonhands:

This was extremely useful and interesting.

edwardspoonhands:

hazelshaw:

4 year old Henry is already outsmarting his dad

[x]

partyinthenunnery:

Greek Gods 

(thanks to chelidon for Greek help)

quixotic [kwik-sot-ik]”

(adjective) In our list of most interesting words, quixotic is the most romantic in every sense. To be quixotic means to be excessively romantic and chivalrous; illogical, idealistic, overall dreamy. It is viewed as an over-idealism filled with absurdity.  (via wordsnquotes)

1 month ago with 4,834 notes

la-rinascente:

Instead of leaking celebrity photos we could leak pdf versions of college textbooks? Idk just an idea

1 month ago with 318,651 notes

“This, too, is how disciplinary power works, by colonizing us from within, so we become the willing inhabitants of the worlds specified by our preferred narratives”

Foucault, 1980 (via indailylife)

1 month ago with 676 notes

I am here. Those three words contain all that can be said – you begin with those words and you return to them. Here means on this earth, on this continent and no other, in this city and no other, and in this epoch I call mine, this century, this year. I was given no other place, no other time, and I touch my desk to defend myself against the feeling that my own body is transient. This is all very fundamental, but after all, the science of life depends on the gradual discovery of fundamental truths.

I have written on various subjects, and not, for the most part, as I would have wished. Nor will I realize my long-standing intention this time. But I am always aware that what I want is impossible to achieve. I would need the ability to communicate my full amazement at “being here” in one unattainable sentence which would simultaneously transmit the smell and texture of my skin, everything stored in my memory, and all I now assent to, dissent from. However, in pursuing the impossible, I did learn something. Each of us is so ashamed of his own helplessness and ignorance that he considers it appropriate to communicate only what he thinks others will understand. There are, however, times when somehow we slowly divest ourselves of that shame and begin to speak openly about all the things we do not understand. If I am not wise, then why must I pretend to be? If I am lost, why must I pretend to have ready counsel for my contemporaries? But perhaps the value of communication depends on the acknowledgment of one’s own limits, which, mysteriously, are also limits common to many others; and aren’t these the same limits of a hundred thousand years ago? And when the air is filled with the clamor of analysis and conclusion, would it be entirely useless to admit you do not understand?

I have read many books, but to place all those volumes on top of one another and stand on them would not add a cubit to my stature. Their learned terms are of little use when I attempt to seize naked experience, which eludes all accepted ideas. To borrow their language can be helpful in many ways, but it also leads imperceptibly into a self-contained labyrinth, leaving us in alien corridors which allow no exit. And so I must offer resistance, check every moment to be sure I am not departing from what I have actually experienced on my own, what I myself have touched. I cannot invent a new language and I use the one I was first taught, but I can distinguish, I hope, between what is mine and what is merely fashionable. I cannot expel from memory the books I have read, their contending theories and philosophies, but I am free to be suspicious and to ask naïve questions instead of joining the chorus which affirms and denies.

Intimidation. I am brave and undaunted in the certainty of having something important to say to the world, something no one else will be called to say. Then the feeling of individuality and a unique role begins to weaken and the thought of all the people who ever were, are, and ever will be – aspiring, doubting, believing – people superior to me in strength of feeling and depth of mind, robs me of confidence in what I call my “I.” The words of a prayer two millennia old, the celestial music created by a composer in a wig and jabot make me ask why I, too, am here, why me? Shouldn’t one evaluate his chances beforehand – either equal the best or say nothing. Right at this moment, as I put these marks to paper, countless others are doing the same, and our books in their brightly colored jackets will be added to that mass of things in which names and titles sink and vanish. No doubt, also at this very moment, someone is standing in a bookstore and, faced with the sight of those splendid and vain ambitions, is making his decision – silence is better. That single phrase which, were it truly weighed, would suffice as life’s work. However, here, now, I have the courage to speak, a sort of secondary courage, not blind. Perhaps it is my stubbornness in pursuit of that single sentence. Or perhaps it is my old fearlessness, temperament, fate, a search for a new dodge. In any case, my consolation lies not so much in the role I have been called on to play as in the great mosaic-like whole which is composed of the fragments of various people’s efforts, whether successful or not.

I am here – and everyone is in some “here” – and the only thing we can do is try to communicate with one another.

Czeslaw Milosz, from My Intention (via violentwavesofemotion)

1 month ago with 985 notes

“There certainly is some reason a story attracted you, and you’re writing it trying to find out that reason.”

Robert Penn Warren (via theparisreview)

1 month ago with 474 notes

247
theparisreview:

Where are Hegel and Virginia Woolf now? The last in a week-long series of illustrations by Jason Novak, captioned by Eric Jarosinski.

theparisreview:

Where are Hegel and Virginia Woolf now? The last in a week-long series of illustrations by Jason Novak, captioned by Eric Jarosinski.

“'People have forgotten this truth', the fox said. 'But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you've tamed. You're responsible for your rose.'”

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince (via bookmania)

1 month ago with 3,221 notes