#compositions from the attic

[obludaughter]

Věra Černá and The Dead Woman / Joanna Kulig in Cold War (2018) / Another Monster excerpts / From Poe's The Philosophy of Composition, 1846 / The Dead Woman by Anne Boyer / Representations of Female Suicide by Drowning in Victorian Culture by Valerie Meessen / The Feminism of Uncertainty: A Gender Diary by Ann Barr Snitow, 2015 /  Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic / Monster, Vol. 08 /

[mellozine]

Scrapbook

I don't normally write fanfic, but I have a bunch of vague ideas that I really gotta get out.

ReaderxJerry, Gender Neutral reader, past male love interest briefly mentioned. Fluff. The scrapbook can't be dateviated, don't worry about it. Not beta read, we die like Hank no. 6

“Whatcha’ got there, friend-o?”

You jump, startled to find Jerry peering over your shoulder, looking with interest at the old composition book sitting on your desk. It has a tattered cover, littered with peeling stickers with miscellaneous things sticking out all over. It hardly even closes.

“Just something I found in the attic,” you reply. “Lady Memoria really wants me to get on cleaning it out. I knew I had a lot of stuff up there, but I never realized how much.”

“A lot of stuff, huh…?”

“Jerry, we talked about this.”

“No, no, you’re right, the attic wouldn't be a…healthy environment for me,” he says, with a bit of a frown. “But, if you ever decide you needed a little assistance with curating-”

“Jerry.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Anyway, to answer your question…it's my old scrapbook.” You hope that if you sate his curiosity, it will distract him from the idea of all the potential lost items in the attic. “I used to paste everything and anything in here for years.”

“Cheese n’ crackers…! Uh, may I?” he asks, gesturing toward the well worn book.

“Sure. Actually…” you rise from your office chair and gesture for him to sit.

As Jerry thumbs through the well worn pages, you point out photographs and little notes, explaining the context behind each one. Jerry, however, is less interested in the photographs than he is the various bits and bobs taped and glued to the pages.

“Oh, that?” you ask, referring to a chunky star shaped button. “I grew out of my favorite coat that year. One of the buttons fell off before my mom donated it, so I decided to keep it. It's really kinda cute, isn't it?”

“And what about these?” Jerry asks, pointing out a series of candy wrappers adorned with cute cartoon characters, lined up neatly, each adhered to the page with decorative tape.

“Oh, a candy company did a promo for a show my friends and I liked! Each wrapper had a different character on it! We spent the whole summer trying to get a full set,” you laugh. “I was the only one of us who managed it. We were so sick of that stuff by the end of it. I haven't eaten any since.”

He turned the page, revealing a photograph of a young man right in the center, the entire rest of the page adorned in heart shaped glittery stickers.

“Oh-ho, and who is-”

“You don't need to see that right now,” you say, turning the page.

“But-”

“You don't. Need to see it.”

“I uh, guess I don't need to see it. Hey, look, a four leaf clover! And so well preserved!”

“Oh, yeah! Some friends and I went on a hike during spring break that year! I found that while we were having lunch!” you smile, as the memory of that day comes flooding back. “I was nearly dead by the time we got to the end of the trail, but I was so excited to find that. Like that made the sweat and hard work of getting there all worth it.”

Your eyes light up at the next page and you point out an old concert ticket, covered with a large piece of clear packing tape.

“That was my first concert!” you exclaim loudly, causing Jerry to startle as a broad smile grows across your face. “I saved my money for months to afford tickets to see Warp live! I still remember feeling the bass all the way in my chest! It was amazing!”

Jerry looks at you. He's not sure he's ever seen you quite so excited, even among the beauty of his various exhibits in the junk drawer. Not even the spare change exhibit has ever caught your interest this way and that was always a crowd pleaser. The crowd was usually just him, but still. 

“Bedknobs and broomsticks, it certainly seems that way. I guess those were pretty good times!”

“They really were,” you say softly. Your expression dims, as sadness starts to creep over you. “It's weird, suddenly being reminded of people I don't talk to anymore and stuff I used to like doing. Maybe I should just throw this out…”

You reach towards the book, but Jerry snatches it away, jumping to his feet. For a moment, he splutters in disbelief, holding it to his chest, almost protectively.

“Wh- How…How could you ever consider throwing this away?! All these stories, these memories…?!”

“Jerry, it's not even a proper scrapbook. It's a composition book with crap glued in it.”

“It's not crap! It's a rich history! It's incredible! It's beautiful! It's…it's you!”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, silence hanging heavy in the air. After a few moments, Jerry laughs nervously.

“I…I meant that…you, you don't…haha, listen to me, going on! That's uh, that's ol’ Jerry for you, huh? Just, uh…oh boy…”

You're quiet for a moment more, as your eyes settle on the ragged notebook in Jerry's hands. He notices you staring and his own gaze flits around the room anxiously, feeling as if your eyes could bore holes into his chest.

“I guess keeping it a little while longer might not be such a bad idea. Actually, why don't you hold on to it for me?”

His face lights up and he holds the scrapbook to his chest, a little tighter, as if it were some precious treasure.

“Really?!”

“Sure. …Just don't take anything out of it.”

“I-I wasn't going to!”

Later, in the cramped confines of the junk drawer, Jerry wanders, looking for the perfect place to place…the Tome of Memories.  But nothing seems quite right. It's not a Lost Item, after all. It's a Found Item with no mysteries held within. He already knows all of its secrets. Well, most of them. He thumbs through it again, smiling fondly at the memory of you, radiating joy as you told him all of your stories. Carefully, he tucks it into a pocket inside his overstuffed jacket. Perhaps this treasure will be part of his private collection for now.

[themsmeep]

Fanfic Ideas I'll Never Get Around To #47:

Akira didn't mean to schedule a porn viewing with the Detective Prince. It just kind of happened.

- - -

"So, this is my room," Akira says, spreading his arms like a game show host introducing the grand prize. "Ta-da!"

He's immediately swamped with embarrassment. It's not much of a room to show off and Akechi probably thinks he's an idiot for waving his arms around. He drops them to his sides, but that feels unnatural. Should he cross his arms? Put his hands on his hips? What does he usually do with his hands? His mind is blank.

Frantic with the knowledge that he looks like a malfunctioning robot, Akira drapes one arm over the back of his desk chair and leaves the other one hanging. Akechi, having noticed none of this, peers at the trinkets on his shelves.

"What an interesting collection. Is there a common thread?"

"Just that they're all gifts from my friends. They tend to give me stuff when we go somewhere special together."

A strange look flashes across Akechi's face, there and gone. Fresh panic seizes Akira. Did that sound boastful? For reasons he can't fully explain, he wants to impress Akechi. Sounding cocky about his attic and his friends is not going to cut it.

"Uh, lately we've mostly been watching movies," he says, drawing Akechi's attention to his ancient TV. "The picture isn't great, but you can see all the important bits."

"Yes, I imagine you'd want to see all the...bits."

"Ha, yeah. Are you a movie buff?"

"Not quite the same way you are."

There's something weird about his tone. Does he think Akira has bad taste in movies? Akira glances over the stack of DVDs and his heart leaps into his throat. "SHRINE SLUTS II" reads the case on top, and the blurb promises, "More shrines! More sluts! More sacrelige!"

Ah fuck. And the hell of it is, this isn't even Akira's porn. Yusuke brought it over yesterday and insisted they watch it for the "extremely aesthetic" shots of Hie Shrine. He chattered happily about the stately buildings in the background while large-chested shrine maidens did unmaidenly things in the foreground. There is no way to explain that to Akechi without sounding like a madman.

"Uh, well, you see," Akira begins, not sure where he's going with this, "even lowbrow movies like that can have redeeming cinematic value. This one has, uh, mise en scène."

"Oh?"

"Yes. The mise en scène is exquisite. 10 out of 10. Totally makes up for the lack of plot."

"How remarkable."

Akechi looks skeptical, but Akira's pretty sure he can swing this. He read an article about filmmaking the other day, plus he has the power of bullshit on his side.

"Yeah, it's amazing. Every scene is completely balanced, all the elements working together in harmony. The composition of each shot is perfect."

"Fascinating. Perhaps I should watch sometime."

"You really should. I'd lend it to you, but this is my friend's DVD."

"In that case, why not watch it now?"

"What?"

"Your friend can hardly object to you watching it once more before returning it. And this way you can explain the wonders of the composition."

"Sure, we can do that," Akira says weakly. Inside, he screams.

[saccadesoup]

random tim thoughts. i have been thinking about him a lot lately

- gets flustered SO easily,,, tease him even slightly and that’s it. he’s bright red. stuttering. thinking ab it for the rest of the day.

- speaking of stuttering: had a really bad stutter as a kid. got put in speech therapy and now it’s mostly gone but it does come back slightly when he’s upset/stressed

- either has the most horrific, realistic, fear-inducing nightmares or unhinged fever dreams. like it’s either “i just watched faceless shadow figures tear into jay and hang his guts on the wall then i had to run but i couldn’t so they did it to me next” or “i had to rescue lady gaga who was also nick cage from an evil lizard then we made out”

- secretly enjoys ABBA (would rather die than admit it)

- COLLECTS VINYLS you cannot tell me this man isn’t a vinyl elitist. keeps them neatly organised and will pitch a fit if you even breathe on them wrong

- writes a shit ton of lyrics that’ll never see the light of day. it’s basically his version of writing poetry

- went to college for music composition but never put out any of the stuff he wrote (he thought people wouldn’t like it), it’s all kept on usb sticks in the attic tho cause he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of all the songs he poured his young little heart and soul into

- can fall asleep anywhere anytime during the day, but the MOMENT he gets into bed at night. he’s awake. cant sleep. not happening.

- generalised anxiety disorder i’m not elaborating

- overthinks every interaction he ever has

- however. he’s also a stubborn bastard. communicates in sarcasm and affectionate insults

- has the most beautiful, deep, rich singing voice... such a warm baritone. think david le'aupepe from Gang of Youths

- snores like an old man he literally sounds like a freight train

[soclearlytosee]

ST: TFS West End vs Broadway

hi, I have through various means been able to pull together a fairly comprehensive set of notes on the differences between TFS Broadway and TFS West End.

Unfortunately this is structured in the opposite way of what makes the most sense (which would be noting changes made for Broadway relative to the West End version, as would actually follow the play's development timeline), but I was in too deep before I realized that.

if you are also knowledgeable on this topic, feel free to get in touch about things I missed or am misrepresenting xxx

TFS Broadway transcr/pt is here, all notes about the differences in the West End version are in relation to this.

Philadelphia Experiment

USS Eldridge scene plays out almost the same but the framing is a bit different in the West End version. The experiments seem to have been ongoing. One member of the crew complains about being a “lab rat” and “taking orders from Nazi eggheads” (another crew member responds, “it’s not Nazis, moron, it’s Einstein”), and Captain Brenner scolds him. He’s more of a believer it seems, or at least doesn’t express doubt like he does in the Broadway version. 

The crew also complains about getting headaches. 

Cpt Brenner’s line and exchange with crew member about it being his son’s birthday, etc is the same.

1959 opening scene

The first scene after credits is a scene of all our teen characters getting ready for school, with Bob on the radio as the framing device. He says it’s October 1, 1959. 

Joyce is in bed with Lonnie, getting dressed for school. She’s looking for her playbook. He asks why she doesn’t cast him in the play, and she says “because you’re 25, Lonnie.” Lines that are moved later on Broadway about how Joyce used to be fun, now it’s “Act II, cue the lesbians” happen here. Lonnie discovers a letter about the Indiana State Arts Scholarship and they fight about Joyce thinking she’s better than everyone. Line that was cut from Broadway where Joyce says she thought he was different because of his whole “James Dean” thing but it turns out he’s just like everybody else.

Hopper is trying to fix his car engine, it explodes. Dialogue basically the same as Broadway convo between him and his dad at school.

Creel family arriving at the Creel House, scene is pretty much the same (but no Creel House door in the background). Henry doesn’t have his radio.

Patty is listening to the radio at the bathroom sink and reading Astounding Things. Principal Newby comes in and scolds her about reading degenerate trash, tells her to say her prayers and finish getting ready. Patty prays to Wonder Woman - “I know this isn’t technically canon, but could you just make me invisible, just for today?” Henry is also onstage (in the Creel House attic) and seems to hear her, and his voice comes through her radio. 

Virginia comes up to the attic to find Henry. He picks at his left hand, and she tells him not to scratch his scar. 

Bob dedicates a song to “a special someone” and Patty teases him about his crush on Joyce

Bob’s radio broadcast set-up is at his house, not the high school

Picture day

Walter gives Henry the tour of the school. Dialogue is basically the same, which makes the “Virgin!”/ “That isn’t true, ask Claudia” exchange with Alan make a lot more sense

I think they imply that Principal Newby's wife/Bob’s mom ran off with Ted’s dad?? Idk man

Walter to Henry, looking at his left hand: “Is that a scar?” 

Patty grabs a notebook from Henry’s locker instead of the Captain Midnight radio (it’s a black composition book) and notes that it’s written in code. “It’s like in Captain Midnight?”

Henry: “I used to have the whole set, with the code-o-graph and the spyglass” - says he lost the spyglass

“This is just my own cipher.”

Henry pretty deliberately shakes Patty’s hand with his right hand even though she reaches out with her left.

Play auditions

Bob and Karen audition before Patty. It’s really comedic, Karen kisses him aggressively

When Sue asks for volunteers to read with Patty for John, Karen raises her hand clearly still wanting to make out. Bi queen Karen?  

In their conversation after auditions, it’s actually Bob trying to convince Patty to do the play and she still has reservations. “When you were standing up there on that stage in front of everyone, something happened to you. Something magical.”

Henry in the Void

Henry doesn’t throw up the smoke, it just shows up. 

Initially realizing he’s in the Void is a bit extended, there’s some cool stuff with the clock ticking and Henry’s voice echoing

Church

Claudia doesn’t bring Prancer’s body to church. Instead, she passes out flyers

Claudia: “I know who it was. It was satanic witches!” vs on Broadway she is the one to say "the devil has come to Hawkins"

Walter notes that the movie they saw at the drive-in was A Bucket of Blood

Hopper and Bob talk about the case instead of Hopper and Henry.

No mention of the devil in Patty and Henry’s conversation, nor an exorcism

Dream sequence is pretty different, it's about Patty getting to sing what she wants instead of finding her mom. Patty sings the “Dream A Little Dream Of Me” solo instead of her mom. Background dancers are our cast from Hawkins (still wearing the clothes they wore to church), not showgirls. Patty wears a Wonder Woman/“Miss Mystery” costume.

Scene ends with Patty saying, “Henry, I’ll do the play if you do” and Henry responding “See you in rehearsals” while they do their little fist salute at each other.

Dialogue with Virginia and Henry after she sees him is extended: “If you’re with another child, you must always be supervised.” “It’s not forever, Henry, it’s just until we figure out how to get you better. For now, I think it’s best that you wait before making any new friends.” Virginia wipes Henry’s bloody nose with her handkerchief like Brenner does in Act II.

Hopper and Bob digging up Prancer

I think they just reference Karen’s bird singular when I’m pretty confident that on Broadway it’s “Karen’s birds” (either of these could be me mishearing : ) )

Bob’s camera gets broken and Hopper says he'll buy him a new one with the reward money.

Play rehearsal

Hopper interviews Ted first, they kinda imply Ted is cheating on Karen or at least going out without her and doesn't want her to know

Hopper’s conversation with Henry starts out with Hopper treating Henry seriously as a suspect but he eventually concludes “you don’t really have the upper body strength, do you?” No offer to collaborate on the investigation. “Anyone ever tell you your kind of a creepy guy?” still end of their interaction

Henry's bathroom vision with Mind Flayer Patty escalates lot more quickly. “I thought you were going to tell me your big secret. About the cat. The one you killed. I know about all of them. I know there’s going to be more.”

Henry puts his hands on Mind Flayer Patty’s shoulders and recoils, clutches at his left hand.

No Demogorgon face puppet on Patty

Patty’s dialogue before they kiss is a little different: “What if the thing you hate about yourself isn’t a curse, it’s a blessing? What if it’s not a mistake? What if it’s a miracle?” Henry also isn’t as inconsolable, they are both standing up for the kiss.

Melvald’s

They actually explain the underage drinking lol. Joyce to Hopper: “He’s just going to let you serve yourself alcohol? How does that work?”, Hopper says they’re afraid he’ll get them in trouble with his dad if they don't let him drink 

Some dialogue between Patty and Henry was cut from Broadway that implies Henry has some form of telepathy

PATTY: Do you think this is what normal people feel like? All the time? HENRY: I know it’s not. She’s depressed. He’s nervous. She thinks he’s an idiot. He’s scared of her. They’re all bored. PATTY: How do you know that? HENRY: Truly? PATTY: Yeah. HENRY: I can hear them. In my head. PATTY: Really? HENRY: Yeah. All the time. PATTY: Well what am I thinking? HENRY: Right now? You’re thinking about your mom. You’re always thinking about your mom.

Handy Talky sex jokes are different

Instead of accusing Hopper of actually caring about the investigation, Joyce is the one to bring up the reward money - “you want the reward money!” and Hopper tells her she also has skin in this game because if someone in the play is killing the animals, the play could be shut down and she’ll lose her shot at the scholarship. (I don’t know how he knows about the scholarship in this version since that info is dropped when Joyce and Lonnie are talking in his bedroom lol)

No “there’s big feelings, we’re sharing” lines

Henry and Virginia in the attic

After Virginia leaves, Henry creepily sings “Tonight You Belong to Me” and has a conversation with Alice that was cut for Broadway

ALICE: Where’s Henry? HENRY: I’m right here. ALICE: You’re not Henry. You’re not him. HENRY: What?

D.A.D. investigation

Hopper calls Joyce shrill 🙁 Their dialogue is pretty different here, no mention of balling. 

“You’re not my type.” “What type am I?” “This is exactly what I’m talking about. Bob, what’s the word I’m looking for?” “Kind?” “Bossy” “Courageous” “Stubborn” “Happy” (??? from Bob, IDK) “Shrill” “I’ve dated(?) girls like you. Always looking for trouble. Always spoiling for a fight. Combative! That’s the word, thanks Bob.” Joyce comes back that Hopper is a self-aggrandizing, egomaniac, meathead, “a phase girls go through to find out the truth that all men are just scared little boys”

No “I kind of have a thing about blood” from Hopper, he’s just upset Joyce and Bob aren’t taking him seriously about his injury

Victor has dialogue that “there are kids in there, I have to get the kids out” when he’s in his WWII flashback

Patty and Henry in the attic

Henry about the Creel House: “I know it’s weird. We left Nevada in kind of a rush. This is the first place we could get.”

Patty: “It’s freezing up here,” Henry: “I like it cold.”

Henry in the Void when Patty’s mom turns into a Mind Flayer vision: “It’s coming for you! It wants you!"

Vines connecting into Henry’s back and restraining Patty and Principal Newby that aren’t there on Broadway iirc

Pretty different dialogue between Patty and Henry. She doesn’t go into the Void 

PATTY: “It’s not real. It’s not real, it’s the nightmare! But it doesn’t have to be. you can make it a nice dream, remember? You just have to close your eyes and imagine it. Henry, what do you see?” HENRY: I see you, Patty. Outside Melvald’s. When we got thrown out for kissing. It started to snow. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. PATTY: What is? HENRY: You are. It all is. I just wish I could stop it all. Right here.

Henry starts seizing, Patty tells him she loves him. “You have to say it!” Henry tells her he loves her too.

Vines go limp, releasing all of them (and I assume dropping Principal Newby through the floor)

No “save the boy” line from Principal Newby to Bob

Patty still runs off after this, Henry tries to scream after her that he knows where her mother is.

Virginia, Henry, and Brenner

On Broadway, Virginia is standing next to Henry’s bed holding a teddy bear while singing “Tonight You Belong to Me”. In the West End, she’s sitting on the bed and Henry’s head is in her lap.

Henry Nevada Backstory

“Henry is 7” opens the birthday party footage instead of 8. Birthday party footage otherwise the same, and text fairly similar, including mention of the possible GSW. I'm not sure if they give any kind of timeline on his disappearance considering some dialogue Brenner has later (implying that incident was 10 months prior to the events of the play)

Projection ends on aerial footage of Hawkins moving from the Creel House to HNL. A sign says the Hawkins High musical has been cancelled

Hawkins National Lab

No mention of the wound on Henry’s left hand

Brenner measures Henry’s pupil dilation (I think? Shines a light into each eye and then rattles off some numbers) after Henry kills the rodent. Henry then collapses into his arms as opposed to jumping into a hug. Brenner doesn’t wipe the blood off Henry’s face.

Joyce and Hopper at the police station

This is a totally different scene. Hopper: “I talked to the Hawkins Power and Light nerds, they have no record of any power surges.” 

Hopper: “Joyce, this is a bad idea.” Joyce: “‘Joyce, this is a bad idea,’ do you know how many times I’ve heard that? I should have a tattoo on my ass at this point.”

Hopper hasn’t talked to his dad yet, Joyce insists on going to the police. Their Mexico conversation happens at the station, Hopper admits he’s fixed his already car. The almost kiss is interrupted by the secretary calling for Joyce that Chief Hopper is waiting for them. Joyce then says, “Send me a postcard. Look, this is bigger than us! Hopper, I can’t let Victor get away with it.. This isn’t the end, this is the beginning. I’m going in there. Are you coming with me or not?”

Joyce brings out her library books to make their case to Chief Hopper. “We think he brought back a device, from the war. A handy-talkie.”

Chief Hopper basically calls Joyce a whore - “I’m surprised you even have the time. Because as I understand it, you’re already juggling half the boys in town” ooookay

Hopper: “I think you’re the joke. I think you’re just a scared little boy. And I’m not going to sit here and take it.” Hopper and his dad go at it. Hopper is the one to say they need to a confession

Lonnie is passed out at the station, Joyce sees him on their way out but runs off

Hospital

Patty tells Bob that she can’t tell him what happened because “he’s listening, he’s always listening” as the lights flicker 

Patty leaves to sit with Victor when Joyce and Hopper arrive with food. The dialogue in this scene is pretty different. Bob: “What if he comes for Patty next?”

Hopper: “We need proof, we need a confession. I can get Victor to confess…we need to lure him where no one will be able to hear. The quarry, maybe?”

Bob says they should do the play with Henry as the lead, lure Victor to them that way and set up a recording device in the changing rooms and set up the fake scene where he’s being interrogated by the Chief of Police

Bob: “Then Hopper is the hero. Easy peasy!”

Bob goes into Victor’s room to ask Patty to do the play. They argue and Principal Newby sits up. Bob exits to get help, and Patty and Principal Newby have their conversation. “I thought another baby - you - would save my marriage - but she left and I punished you for it my whole life. But you don’t know the secret. What we did. That’s been rotting in me. And this thing, it’s like it could smell it.” 

Patty asks, “Henry?” And Principal Newby says no - “The boy stopped it. It was killing me Patty. If the boy hadn’t fought it, it would have won.” “What would have won.”

Principal Newby draws “the it” with blood from his eyes: “I can’t explain it, I have to show you.” He draws the s2 Mind Flayer (it's very similar to Will's charcoal drawing from s3).

Wall of monitors

Brenner’s dad died as a result of the Eldridge incident, so he explains what happened as images show up on the monitors. 

“On October 28, they tested it. It was my 15th birthday.” An audio recording from the opening scene plays. 

Brenner: “The entire crew was lost save for my father who was horribly wounded. Now, I was allowed to see him once before he died and he told me what really happened. The ship became momentarily invisible because it was gone, gone to a dimension beyond our own.” Henry says “that’s impossible.” Brenner responds, “That is what everyone said. They told me my father was dying, that it was the morphine talking. The funniest thing they said was that his body kept rejecting the blood transfusions. They couldn’t figure it out, but I knew. Something changed. He changed. After he died, I dedicated my life to Project Rainbow. I joined the research team at the Department of Defense at their base in Nevada."

Brenner: “We had access to special materials. And then one night about ten months ago, one of our scientists broke out our facility carrying something very, very dangerous. His remains were found two days later. Near a cave system. There was no trace of what transpired...We had nothing. Almost nothing.” Lab guy wearing hazmat suit comes out, holding a box. “Just the tiniest hint that someone else had gotten there first. Have you ever seen a container like this before? The scientist who escaped was carrying (???). Don’t you want to know what’s in it?”

They put the electrode headpiece on Henry and open the box. It contains Henry’s lost Captain Midnight spyglass. That revelation is what causes Henry to start to seize.

“What happened when you opened the box, Henry? What did you see?”

No gate opens, what looks like Dimension X appears on the monitors. The monitors crack and Henry falls to the floor. Brenner wipes the foam and blood from Henry’s face. He says, “can you get me back there?” Brenner: “Yes, I can get you back there. Henry, you want to hear(?) a big secret? And that big secret is hiding in a little part of your brain called the amygdala. Now we just need to make contact. We just need to say hello. Is that something you want? Together we can open a door back to that other place. A gate, if you will. We can do it, Henry. You and me, together. Father and son.”

Patty and Henry in the Void

Patty reaches out to Henry without Bob, Joyce, and Hopper, or the radio. “I don’t know how to find you, so you’re going to have to find me.” She puts on a blindfold. “Talk to me, Henry. Find me.” No mention of Captain Midnight. She enters the Void.

Henry: “We don’t have long. It’s not safe for you here.”

It felt clearer to me here that they’re looking at Henry’s nervous system, and the synapse-y Mind Flayer projection in the background is in his amygdala.

Discussion about Henry needing to fight it. Henry says he’s tired of hating himself and everyone else. He wonders if this is where he belongs.

Henry still shares Principal Newby’s secret, but it’s that Patty wasn’t abandoned, but was taken from her mother because she was young and declared unfit - not that she was born because Principal Newby had an affair with a student.

Patty cries, says doesn’t want to be alone again. Henry tells her to run from him and she says she can’t. She gets up and holds hospital bed Henry’s hand. “Where would I go? I’m the girl from nowhere, however(?) I can’t give up. Don’t fight for yourself, just fight for me.” Something about there being monsters, but that doesn’t mean they’re all bad. She wants to find her mom and for Henry to come with her. “We can fight the monsters, we can find the good in this world. Me and you, Henry.”

No back and forth between the lab attendants in this version. The thread with one lab attendant having a conscience about all this/going against Brenner is not present.

Inmate 58361

Lab attendant pleading with Henry is a bit different: “I just work here, kid. I just follow orders. I have a daughter at home and (???)” 

Dark of the Moon opening night

Less backstage chaos business overall. Karen’s new costume is a “sexy Halloween costume” version of the original instead of the almost naked cauldron skirt/spider nipples. Alan and Karen bicker, I think about double standards about Alan’s unitard costume.

Bob apologizes to Patty: “I should have protected you. Especially from dad.”

No “incest is edgy” jokes about Patty and Bob.

Lonnie is the one that gets mistakenly grabbed for Hopper’s interrogation instead of Victor. Lonnie confesses that he stole baby Jesus from the Nativity.

No Aisle F, Seat 12 vs Aisle 12, Seat F mix-up, Lonnie just says they were giving away tickets at the door. “I’m trying to get back together with my girl, she’s the director.” He doesn’t seem to know Hopper?

Creel murders

No scene with Alice before dinner, Henry just enters the Void right away. Dialogue between Virginia and Alice is a bit different, Alice says, “I just want things to go back to normal.”

Some extended dialogue from Virginia when she’s talking to Brenner: “I tried to be a good mother to him. I tried everything. I just don’t know if what happened to him made him that way, or if deep down he’s always been like that(?)”

Big Mind Flayer is maybe just a projection or at least a much less elaborate prop, no big puppet for the Brits :(

Blackout at the play

Scene transition doesn’t involve Patty’s Barbara Allen “not the baby!” dialogue, and no prop baby for Joyce and Bob’s conversation

Slightly different dialogue from Henry to Joyce: “What are you going to do, rewrite the ending?” You make all these plans. You think you have control. But it is bullshit. Don’t you see? I do. It used to be that I could just hear the voices. But now I can see them. Now I can see everything.”

Joyce: “No, okay, I know that you feel like you don’t belong, all right I don’t either, but things can change. God, I mean, you? You have changed so much since your first audition and Hawkins has been changed too.”

No “You will” from Henry to Joyce after she says “I don’t understand.” Otherwise the scene is the same.

Some more pointed dialogue from Brenner to Patty on the catwalk, “What about you? I never would have found him without you. How did you get him to attack your father like that? What did you do to him?”

Brenner doesn’t call Henry an “it”: “Patricia, he’s a weapon, and he’s the property of the United States government.” 

Brenner: “He’s a killer, Patty, and he needs to kill. And he needs me. Not you. Me.”

Brenner keeps telling Henry, “do not fight, connect”

Patty does not take a breath before the blackout that ends the scene

Epilogue

Hopper just asks Joyce “How’s Lonnie?” no jokily pretending to not know his name like on Broadway

Bob’s dedication to Patty is: “Wherever she is, I hope she’s tuning in. Wonder Woman, this one’s for you.”

I believe the song that plays over Patty meeting her mom is different, and there aren’t any showgirls backstage with Patty’s mom / they don’t sing together.

When Patty and her mom hug, the “STAGE DOOR” sign flickers. Patty’s mom asks what is that, and Patty responds it’s nothing, probably bad wiring

[iboatedhere]

could I please get "heart shaped sunglasses" as a prompt? I love canon but if there's an AU that speaks to you I'd love that too

I went with a photographer/model AU.

—

Alex didn’t grow up thinking he wanted to be a photographer.

He cycled through dreams that almost every kid has—doctor, teacher, President of the United States, and astronaut. For a few weeks, when he was four, he thought seriously about becoming a T-rex.

When he was thirteen, he found an old camera in the attic that his father had left behind when he moved out.

He watched a half-dozen YouTube videos to figure out how to get it to work, then took a photography class in high school and got a position on the school paper, taking shots of football games and events around town.

He thought he looked cool, carrying around a vintage camera that used real film in the age of sleek digital devices and camera phones, and he was good at it. He received heaps of praise from his photography teacher, won awards in local contests, and even sold a few prints at farmer’s markets and craft fairs around Austin.

Alex majored in studio art in college, focusing on photography and media. He learned about color, composition, and lighting. He studied Ansel Adams, Dorthea Lange, Steve McCurry, and Robert Capa. He thought about becoming a war correspondent, embedding himself in the most volatile parts of the globe and reporting the truth through photographs—gritty, raw, and dangerous.

Where he ended up was someplace much softer.

–

Alex first saw Henry Fox on the glossy pages of one of June’s fashion magazines when he was twelve.

Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar. Maybe Cosmopolitan. He can’t remember. What he can remember is Henry Fox’s wide, blue eyes and golden hair. He remembers looking at the close-up photo of him for too long until June cleared her throat and met his startled gaze with raised brows.

He looked for Henry after that. Sneaking into June’s room or stealing the magazine straight from the mailbox when it was delivered. He’d bring it with him to the treehouse in the backyard and search.

Before Alex even had a word for it, most of the photos had felt exploitative. Henry, too young, around much older models. Odd poses and barely there clothing. Henry never looked happy. He never smiled. Alex would never photograph him like that. He never really thought about photographing him at all. Mostly, he just wanted to hang out with him. Maybe take him swimming at Barton Springs, to a baseball game in Round Rock, or ride their bikes together. He just wanted to make Henry smile.

Alex found out later that Henry’s father was a famous actor and his mother was a supermodel, making Henry one of the world’s biggest nepo-babies.

Maybe doors automatically opened for Henry. Maybe he has a trust fund or an inheritance and never has to work another day in his life. Alex is unsure of those things, but he is certain Henry is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

–

Alex lowers his camera as the art director flutters into the frame, tugging on the strap of Emily’s bikini top and sweeping Henry’s hair off his forehead.

“Perfect,” she says before waving in Alex’s direction. “Okay. Keep going.”

Alex rolls his eyes and lines up another shot.

He doesn't really know what the point of this shoot is. He guesses it’s supposed to be playful…a fun day by the pool where Henry has stolen her heart-shaped sunglasses and perched them on the top of his head while she’s taken his diamond-studded watch and is holding it against her throat like a necklace. But Emily’s bikini is practically see-through, Henry is wearing a pair of swim trunks that hide nothing, and Alex doesn’t understand what they’re trying to sell, aside from their bodies.

So goes the fashion industry.

“Did you get it?” Henry calls out to him without moving a muscle.

Alex blinks through the viewfinder. “What?”

“Did you get the shot?” He asks.

“Oh. Yeah. Probably.”

“Good,” Henry says, “my foot is beginning to cramp.”

He shifts, and Emily hops off his lap and into a robe a PA is holding while Henry stands up, stretches the arch of his foot, and accepts his own robe.

It’s all so fast and formal as if they didn’t just spend the last hour dry-humping each other by a pool at a mansion in Beverly Hills.

Alex isn’t sure if he could pull that off, being that close to either of them and acting like it’s no big deal. Things are easier behind the lens of a camera.

Alex busies himself by pulling the photos up on his laptop. He took nearly two hundred. At least one has to be good enough to go to print.

“May I see?”

Alex nods, and Henry steps into his space, pressing their shoulders together before Alex can make room.

“Christ,” Henry says as he peers at the screen. “Am I really that pale?”

“We can fix it in post?”

Henry hums. “Add it to the list,” he jokes, but it’s not funny at all.

Alex knows that no one is perfect, but he thinks the people he photographs—Henry especially—are about as close to the idea of it as possible. That won’t stop every photo he’s in from being scrutinized and edited to death. They’ll airbrush out the moles that dot across his ribs, the small half-moon scar by his left hip, and the line between his brows. Whatever they do to Henry, it’ll be ten times worse for Emily.

“You’re very good at this,” Henry tells him. It’s not the first time they’ve worked together, but it’s the first time Henry has complimented him.

“Thanks. You make it easy. I mean you guys—you two—you and Emily,” Alex flounders. “You look good.”

“Is it the sunglasses?” Henry asks as he reaches up and touches the thin, pink frames.

“Yes,” Alex answers. “They complete the look. Maybe they’ll let you keep them since they suit you so well.”

“I’ll be sure to ask,” Henry says, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

—

Unsurprisingly, it was June that helped him shape his view of fashion.

When he was younger, he’d point to the avant-garde looks in her magazines and genuinely ask who the hell would ever wear this?

“No one,” She’d tell him as she snatched the magazine away. “Sometimes clothes aren’t meant to be worn, they’re meant to be admired. It’s like how some people go to the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa. Other people find their art in fashion magazines.”

He reminds himself of that each time he attends Fashion Week in London, Milan, or Paris. It’s an art exhibit; the models are living sculptures.

In the front row of the Dior show at Bryant Park, Alex thinks Henry makes a stunning canvas.

His hair is dyed dark brown, a near match to the cropped leather jacket he’s wearing, only half zipped, his chest bare. Alex watches his long legs in oversized wool shorts as they walk down the runway, where he stops at the end, poses, and then continues back. He looks down at Alex as he passes, tips his head up, and disappears backstage.

Only after he’s gone does Alex realize he didn’t get a single photo of him.

–

They let me keep the glasses, by the way.

Alex frowns down at his phone as he tries to parse out the Instagram DM that popped up on the screen.

He has two accounts—an official photography account and a smaller, more personal one, followed only by his family and friends. Alex knows he isn’t famous, not yet anyway, but he knows that people can get weirdly parasocial, and he’d rather not have to purge his main account a few years down the line.

This message, from a GEJames97, was sent to his personal account.

????? Alex sends back.

The ones from the shoot, the next message reads.

This is Henry.

Fox.

Alex’s frown deepens. Henry has an Instagram account. He has nearly four million followers and posts photos of his most recent campaigns at least twice a week. Not that Alex is keeping track.

Prove it, Alex says.

A few moments later, a photo of Henry Fox in the pink, heart-shaped glasses pops up.

Pez told me about this account. I hope that’s okay.

Pez…..???????

Percy Okonjo.

Percy Okonjo is an up-and-coming designer who is best friends with Henry. They have the entire fashion world buzzing with speculation that Henry will start working with Percy the second his contract with Dior ends.

Percy also was a guest editor for Vogue and had an undefined thing with June. Alex doesn’t know the details, and he’ll never ask for them, but it was enough that Percy followed Alex’s personal account.

How long are you in New York? Henry asks, and Alex feels his heart rate kick up.

Why do you think I’m still in New York?

Henry sends him a photo Alex posted earlier of a friendly Central Park squirrel eating a small piece of bagel out of his hand.

Until Sunday, Alex tells him. Why?

Doing anything tonight?

Alex blows out a breath.

Not yet.

Alex has only been at the bar for three minutes before Henry shows up. Alex appreciates the promptness, it gives him less time to be nervous.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Henry says anyway, leaning in to press a kiss to Alex’s cheek that leaves Alex feeling untethered. “Traffic in Manhattan is insane.”

“It’s fine,” Alex says, “you’re good. You’re…” Alex trails off because Henry is beautiful in jeans, a t-shirt (that probably cost more than Alex’s hotel room bill), and a Yankees cap pulled low over his face.

“If you want to go someplace else–,” Alex starts.

“Why would I want to go someplace else?” Henry interrupts, raising his hand to wave down the bartender.

“I don’t know. I feel like this place isn’t your usual vibe.”

It’s not a dive by any means, but it’s certainly not the flashy restaurants and clubs Henry usually attends.

“A few months ago, Pez brought me to this place in Chinatown. We followed this woman down a narrow stairwell for what felt like forever, light flickering and water dripping from the ceiling. I would’ve phoned my sister to say goodbye, but I didn’t have cell service. If I can survive that, I can survive this.” He glances around the bar. “I don’t fear for my life at all here.”

“You’re in America,” Alex tells him. “You should kinda always be fearing for your life.”

Henry snorts. “I suppose that’s true, but I am enjoying myself.”

“You just got here.”

Henry shrugs. “Then maybe it’s the company.”

Alex ducks his head. “How long are you in the city for?”

“At least another two weeks,” Henry tells him. “I’ll have a good bit of downtime, but not enough to fly home between shoots. I’m trying to figure out ways to keep myself busy. Do you have any ideas?”

Alex has about a million. He’s been thinking about this since he was twelve years old.

“Have you ever actually been to a Yankees game?” Alex asks, and Henry shakes his head. “They’re in town if you wanna go.”

Henry smiles, big and bright, even in the murky lighting of the bar, and Alex feels like he’s suddenly accomplished everything he could ever want in life.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

It looks like a neat white farmhouse in Murrysville, Pennsylvania, but not only is it a seriously dated 1966 mid-century modern, it has the weirdest architectural features and needs a very deep cleaning. It has 5bds, 5.5ba, and it was reduced $35K to $535K. I think they're gonna have to go lower b/c there's a lot of work to do here.

The description calls this a stunning entry with exquisite chandeliers. I see a dated and dirty carpet. So, they took two vases off those corner shelves and left the dirt.

Now, here we have a fake forest with treetops smooshed right into the ceiling. I can't tell if that's a water fall in the right corner, but it's full of dirt and looks broken.

The stone thing on the left must be a planter, but how deep is it? It looks like the bottom fell out. Next is the octagonal mezzanine in the ceiling. It's a big open space and it must've been dramatic when it was new?

Behind the long stone structure is a mural. Maybe it's an indoor pond.

Here's the view from the top. The empty plastic containers must be planters.

The kitchen is huge but the cabinets are in good shape. The counters look like an old version of a composition material like Corian.

What is that black panel over the fridge?

The kitchen certainly has a comprehensive sprinkler system in the ceiling.

This is a vast area for a living room. Do they make ride-on vacuums? Looks like something's missing from the ceiling feature.

Here's a family room area with a fireplace.

The spiral stairs in the family room lead up here. I have no idea what this is and what that fenced in area is for. There appears to be a terrace with a BBQ kettle outside.

In the primary bedroom they left a bed platform and dirty upholstered headboard with matching linens.

MCM bath has a walk-in tub. They're very expensive and range in price from $2K - $10K.

Whoever designed this house really liked these openings in the ceilings. According to the description you can see clear up to this one on the 3rd fl. from the 1st. fl., but this is clearly an unfinished attic.

They do sell tension legs for sinks like this, but the owners have cleverly installed a plunger to fashion a sort of pedestal sink.

What a long garage.

This is a deceiving property. I thought that the farmhouse was for sale, but I didn't see the mid-century home attached to it. The land measures 1.3 acres.

[dionysiaproductions]

Today at Pemberley, The 12th of June:

The party at Pemberley was gathered in the drawing room playing cards. Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy was making a valiant effort to lose every hand to Col. Fitzwilliam who continued to be in poor spirits. Although, she had considerable competition from Mr. Bingley who took as much delight in his own losses as his victories.

Mrs. Jane Bingley had left the game early in the evening and instead was turning the pages for Miss Georgiana Darcy as she played the pianoforte. The young lady stopped halfway through a long composition when Pemberley’s Housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds entered the room.

Mrs. Reynolds was barely containing her excitement as she gave a polite but hasty apology for interrupting them, then explained, “I only wanted to let my lady know that we found the chair.”

“The chair?” Mrs. Darcy asked to Mrs. Reynold’s transparent disappointment.

Mrs. Bingley was not so confused as her sister, “The chair, Lizzie! The one you started dismantling the entire attic to find in the first place.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Darcy tossed her cards on the table. “That is wonderful! In the intervening month, I had completely forgotten but I am delighted anew for being reminded in such a happy manner.”

“It is in the library, if you would like to see it,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

“Yes, yes, we must go at once.” Mrs. Darcy promptly preceded Mrs. Reynolds out of the drawing room.

Mr. Darcy turned to Mrs. Bingley, who was herself moving to follow them. “What chair? And why is it now in my library?”

Previous days at Pemberley here

[puddingyun]

Hi sweetie 🥰

After reading the prompts i would like to ask for hongjoong

"there are some things that no one teaches you, love."

Thank you so much

Have a wonderful day/night

❤️

joong x reader

: 1.3k words, fluff, domestic :

a/n: thank you for the request! ah i really loved writing this (╥ᆺ╥；)�� i hope you have a lovely day/night as well! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Hongjoong had been learning all his life. First the alphabet and all the different sounds that animals made, lessons that carried the smell of apple juice-boxes and the sound of building blocks tumbling down. Then literature and algebra, formulas for essays and equations that he'd long since forgotten in lieu of the memories of studying them, powered by energy drinks and instant ramen. Most recently came the ins and outs of music, composition and writing, subjects that were infinite and that he would no doubt go on learning about for the rest of his life. 

All the different things he'd learned over the years had come in stages and all carried with them their own special shine, holding special spaces in his brain like boxes full of beloved bric-a-brac stacked in the sunlit corner of an attic. The other kind of lessons came and went with his experiences – how to show his friends he loved them, how to move past disappointments without lingering for too long, how to keep himself from burning out. These were things that came without a learning system, things that advice and his own sore heart had taught him. Regardless of how the lessons came about, he was sure for a time that he had learned all he needed to get by. That was, until he met you.

No classroom and chalkboard had taught him how his heart would skip a painful beat when he saw you smiling or laughing. No late night talk with his brother or mother had warned him to watch out for how he'd ache when he caught you trying to learn the recipes for his favourite foods. No lecture or book held the knowledge of how to deal with the urge to call you at random times of the day to tell you about an oddly-shaped stain on the pavement or the way the sun shone through an overcast sky. 

There seemed to be so much to you. You were vaster than the space beyond the Earth's atmosphere and deeper than the Mariana Trench, holding in every blink of your eyes more knowledge than every encyclopedia and research paper combined. If he could, he'd watch you for the rest of his life, casting aside everything else he'd learned so that he could learn the secrets of the universe just from being in your presence. 

Waking up beside you on a Sunday morning, Hongjoong felt the first breath of the day get caught in his throat when he turned over and saw you laying beside him. The skin beneath your eyes was speckled with mascara from the night before and you were still wearing the jewellery you'd worn out to the bar (a ring your best friend had given you as a graduation gift and a necklace he'd given you last Valentine's, a pairing of the two people you loved most you'd told him when you were putting them on). Slowly, so as not to disturb you, he pushed himself upright and reached out to touch your forehead with a shy knuckle. The action reminded him of a priest baptising a child, but he was surprised as always by how he felt as though he was the one being blessed by you rather than the other way around.

He padded through your apartment, taking note of his possessions scattered around on every surface. Some of his bracelets left next to your house keys in the bowl by the door, a few notebooks nestled among your collection of novels. In the kitchen his favourite mug was upside down next to yours, drying by the sink in a pool of water, and when he glanced at the coffee table he saw his hoodie left on the loveseat, worn by him and used as a blanket by you when you fell asleep watching TV. All of these items seemed to him like displays in a museum, so amazing that he hardly viewed them as real objects. He smiled and let out a soft, awed breath.

After the cocktails and beers you'd shared last night he wasn't sure you'd want breakfast this morning, but still he went about making coffee and slicing bread for toast. He'd make you breakfast every morning if he could and would never complain if you didn't take a single sip or bite. He was satisfied just at the thought of putting food on your table for you to eat, satisfied that he knew how many sugars you liked in your hot drinks and satisfied that you liked to brag to your friends that he knew just how much butter to put on your toast. Nobody had taught him these things, nobody had quizzed him on them, and yet they carried the weight of the world in a way that nothing else did.

He hummed softly as he put out two plates on the counter, the morning chill inviting goosebumps to rise on the skin of his forearms. Steam rose from the coffee as he filled your mug and then his (always yours and then his) and he bathed in its warmth like it was steam in a sauna. He had been through this routine many times, making coffee for his group members the morning after a harrowing schedule and soaking in the silence of an apartment before the day began, but standing in your kitchen it all felt brand new. The view from your window, as mundane and familiar as it was, still seemed awe-inspiring as he watched passerbys going about their lives. He wondered where they were heading, and if any of them knew all of the things he'd learned from being with you.

Buttering toast and tipping teaspoons of sugar into mugs of coffee, Hongjoong found himself sinking further and further into the quicksand of his life with you and never once felt the need to struggle against its pull.

Your figure filled the doorway to the living room just as Hongjoong set down your two mugs of coffee on the table. A smile played on your lips, eyes still sleepy as they watched him walk towards you. Without a word he wrapped his arms around you, both of you swaying languidly from side to side, dancing to music that nobody else could hear. You smelled of toothpaste, lingering perfume, and salty lime wedges. He breathed you in like he was coming up for air. 

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, smoothing a hand over the top of your head. You hummed softly, leaning into his touch.

"Like a rock," you answered, kissing his chin. He smiled at the feeling of your lips on his skin, knowing he'd carry it with him for the rest of the day, his wandering fingers always coming back to touch the first spot you'd kissed that day. "What about you?"

"Just fine," he mumbled.

The two of you parted, though your fingertips lingered on the small of Hongjoong's back the way he'd learned they loved to do. You saw the coffee and toast on the coffee table and smiled once again, this time laughing softly. Leaning into him, you kissed his cheek with a smile still on your lips. 

"Smells amazing," you hummed. Hongjoong followed you as you threw yourself onto the couch, landing with a happy sigh. He sat beside you and watched as you took your first bite of toast and then your first sip of coffee. He sat and watched you while his own coffee cooled, eyes taking in everything from the way you licked crumbs from your lips to the way you breathed in the smell of the coffee before you drank from it. Everything was endearing in its own way, and he noted each and every action down to keep with him. He pressed a kiss to your temple and thought to himself how appropriately named the warm spot on your head was – temple. 

He looked at your empty ring finger curled against your mug and wondered when it would be right to put his impression there. Just like everything else, he supposed he'd figure it out in time. Maybe love just wasn't something meant to be taught.

[theclassicalreview]

Achilles and Patroclus - were they ACTUALLY lovers? (#couplegoals??)

Perhaps the most famous gay relationship in history is found in The Iliad - the warrior Achilles and his companion Patroclus. They have often been depicted as anything from cousins to best friends to lovers. But the nature of their relationship - despite all of its speculation - is pretty clear in the original poem by Homer. He only ever depicted them as companions - the death of Patroclus being the reason for Achilles’ rage. 

Homer’s The Iliad

Achilles’ strongest bond in the Iliad is with Patroclus. The Classics professor Gregory Nagy points out:

“For Achilles [...] in his own ascending scale of affection as dramatized by the entire composition of the Iliad, the highest place must belong to Patroklos [...] In fact Patroklos is for Achilles the πολὺφίλτατος [...] ἑταῖρος — the 'hetaîros who is the most phílos by far”

In ancient texts, ‘philos’ generally was used for love between family and friends. David M. Halperin wrote:

“Homer, to be sure, does not portray Achilles and Patroclus as lovers…but he also did little to rule out such an interpretation.”

In fact, the relationship between achilles and Patroclus was an archetypal male friendship - comparable to Damon and Pythias; friends who gladly risked their lives for each other - so much so that they impressed Dionysus who freed them from captivity. 

Translated by Samuel Butler:

book 18:

“Patroclus has fallen - he whom I valued more than all others, and love as dearly as my own life. I have lost him.”

“I will pursue Hector who has slain him whom I loved so dearly.”

In Classical thought…

Many writers argued the nature of Achilles and Patroclus’ relationship, as the Iliad never quite satisfied people’s speculations. Aeschylus, Plato and Aeschines all argued in favour of an erotic relationship, whereas Xenophon firmly stood against it, aligning more with Homer’s portrayal. What also became a debate was who in the pair was the erastes or the eromenos - with Achilles usually cast as the erastes; but Plato flipped this view. The erastes being the older ‘lover and protector’ and the eromenos being the younger ‘beloved.’ 

Aeschylus 

Aeschylus made the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus the center of his lost tragedy ‘The Myrmidons’ in the fifth century BC, viewing their relationship as sexual. In a surviving fragment of the play, Achilles mentions the “reverent company” of Patroclus thighs (lol) and how Patroclus was “ungrateful for any kisses.” (lmao) 

If only we knew what the rest of the play said!

Aeschines 

Aeschines was a Greek statesman and one of the ten Attic orators. He is most famous for his speech, “Against Timarchus,” accusing the Greek noble Timarchus of being unfit to involve himself in public life. It is also one of the most valuable sources that we have about Athenian attitudes to homosexuals. Unlike Plato - who he KNOW was distinctive from other Athenians for that is why we remember him - Aeschines was speaking to an Athenian jury so it is expected that he was appealing to the current popular opinion. 

Within the speech, Aeschines emphasises the importance of *paiderasteia* to the Greeks, arguing that while Homer did not say so explicitly, educated people should be able to red between the lines.  

“Although (Homer) speaks in many places of Patroclus and Achilles, he hides their love and avoids giving a name to their friendship, thinking that the exceeding greatness of their affection is manifest to such of his hearers as are educated men.”

Xenophon 

Xenophon was a Greek military leader, philosopher and historian who interestingly, in his own ‘Symposium’, had Socrates argue that Achilles and Patroclus were merely chaste and devoted comrades in the Iliad.

Specifically, according to Socrates: “Homer pictures us Achilles looking upon Patroclus not as the object of his passion but as a comrade, and in this spirit signally avenging his death.” 

Xenophon cites other examples of legendary friendships - like Orestes and Pylades. This interpretation is referenced in works from Plutarch, Themistius, Libanius and Lucian.

These were not the only classical figures to debate this: Aristarchus of Samothrace firmly argued their relationship was platonic while Pindar suggested otherwise in his comparison to his boxer Hagesidamus and his trainer Ilas. 

Either way, it is clear that Achilles and Patroclus’ relationship was very significant to the Greeks, as Alexander the Great honoured their sacred tomb in front of the entire army when passing through Troy on their Asian campaign.

What Would Plato Do?

Of course, our favourite philosopher Plato just HAD to chime in on the debate. In his Symposium, Plato’s character Phaedrus argued that Achilles and Patroclus were divine lovers - but he argued that Achilles was actually the “eromenos.” This idea is supported by Achilles’ profound grief after Patroclu’s death - showing his reverse for his “erastes.”

“Furthermore, only such as are in love will consent to die for others; not merely men will do it…And Aeschylus talks nonsense when he says that it was Achilles who was in love with Patroclus; for he excelled in beauty not Patroclus alone but assuredly all the other heroes, being still beardless and, moreover, much the younger, by Homer’s account.” - Plato’s Symposium, pages 179-180

Movie depictions…

Brad Pitt took on the role of Achilles in Troy (2004), in which Patroclus is depicted as his younger cousin, through which their intensely strong bond forms. This depiction is largely attributed to Hesiod’s version of the myth where they are portrayed as direct cousins through their fathers, Menoetius and Peleus.

Book depictions…

The Song of Achilles is a novel by Madeline Miller, told from Patroclus point of view, focuses on the romantic nature of their relationship throughout the story. I’ve read this book, and while it definitely departs from what Homer explicitly said in the Iliad, it was a very interesting portrayal on their relationship and Patroclus’ character and childhood. It is definitely the reason for why in modern times, people have become even more interested in their relationship. 

Miller says:

“There is a lot of support for their relationship in the text of the Iliad itself, though Homer never makes it explicit. For me, the most compelling piece of evidence, aside from the depth of Achilles' grief, is how he grieves: Achilles refuses to burn Patroclus' body, insisting instead on keeping the corpse in his tent, where he constantly weeps and embraces it—despite the horrified reactions of those around him. That sense of physical devastation spoke deeply to me of a true and total intimacy between the two men.”

Conclusion

All in all, if you asked me what I thought of their relationship, I would honestly say - this is what I believe and what I think Homer intended - that the two were just very close friends. I also think their relationship is far more interesting for being comrades who constantly sacrifice themselves for each other. While I enjoy looking into all interpretations, when reading the Iliad I could only see them as platonic. Regardless of your own views of whether they were lovers or not, it is obvious that they were the central relationship of the Iliad, and perhaps the most interesting of the ancient world. 

[lumine5cene]

𝐖𝐇𝐘  𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐆𝐎  𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊  𝐓𝐎  𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓?   𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄  𝐒𝐎  𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃  𝐀𝐓  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓.

──   (  quintessa swindell. twenty-eight. nonbinary. they/he.  ) thank god you’re here, man - have you seen RILEY HAYES-GOLDSTEIN anywhere? i totally lost them after their rendition of please please please let me get what i want by the smiths last night. no? they’re like, aye - high and go to PALLADIAN - i think they’re a GRAD STUDENT studying  LYRICAL COMPOSITION, POETRY & INTERPRETATIVE WORLD BUILDING? but who knows, these days. all i know is that they’re OBSERVANT & INTELLIGENT and a VIRGO . last night they kept going on and on about how they won  MOST LIKELY TO HAVE A SERIOUS FULL CONVERSATION WITH A CAT WHILE DRUNK last year, which is cool and whatever, but i just wouldn’t expect it out of them, considering they’re so, like, SARDONIC & SUSPICIOUS, you know? anyways - i’m going to check down by the maze garden, i think that’s where they like to hang. text me if you see them, okay? bye!   ↪ connections (tba). tag. pinterest. playlist. threads.

birth  name:  riley  helena  hayes. legal  name:  riley  hayes-goldstein nickname(s):  ry,  goldstein,  will  no  longer  answer  to  hayes. age:  twenty-eight. date  of  birth:  august  31st zodiac  sign:  virgo  sun  /  pisces  moon  /  aquarius  rising  orientation:  great  fucking  question,  dude.  gender:  nonbinary  /  genderflux. occupation:  student  at  palladian,  micro  niche  internet  celebrity,  almost  published  writer. language(s)  spoken:  english,  internet. hair  color:  brown. eye  color:  dark  honey  brown.

                       𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄  𝐎𝐍𝐄  𝐈𝐍  𝐀  𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍  𝐍𝐎𝐖.

CHARACTER  PARALLELS:    josie  (  bottoms  ),  maddy  wilson  (  i  saw  the  tv  glow  ),  harper  poythress  (  we  are  who  we  are  ),  quentin  coldwater  (  the  magicians  ),  fleabag  (  fleabag  ),  seth  cohen  (  the  oc  ),  wes  gibbins  (  htgwam  ),  nadine  (  edge  of  seventeen  )

PLAYLIST:  𝐢.  black  out  days  by  phantogram  -  future  islands  remix  //  𝐢𝐢.  time  machine  by  willow  //  𝐢𝐢𝐢.  television  by  night  tapes  //  𝐢𝐯.  losing  my  religion  by  r.e.m.  //  𝐯.  falling  apart  by  slow  pulp.

                         𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓  𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓  𝐓𝐎  𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄,

(parental abandonment tw) riley  didn’t  realize  they  had  a  way  with  words  until  he  nearly  convinced  his  mother  to  leave  their  nasty  father  at  the  age  of  10.  buried  secrets  had  come  out,  riley  had  discovered  one  too  many  things  in  their  attic  in  florida  that  made  them  realize  his  mother  was  repressing  her  entire  being  —  for  a  man.  proselytized,  moved  across  the  country  for  a  false  love  story  &  terribly  misguided  --  rachel  goldstein  fell  head  over  heels  into  a  nightmare.  and  seemed  to  be  staying  for  them.  when  the  trash  took  itself  out  after  one  too  many  fights  between  riley  and  their  father,  it  was  up  to  riley  to  pick  up  the  pieces  and  he  did  --  piecing  together  an  exit  plan  that  got  them  to  where  rachel  was  from.  the  lower  east  side  of  NEW  YORK.

(homophobia/transphobia cw, depression/anxiety mention) curious  to  a  fault,  chris  had  always  resented  riley's  penchant  for  coloring  outside  of  the  lines,  wanting  a  cookie  cutter  child  to  fit  the  mold  of  a  perfect  life.  even  naming  them  riley  because  he  originally  wanted  a  boy.  he  got  one,  just  one  he  never  got  to  know  or  exactly  the  type  of  man  their  father  would  accept.  or  really  a  man  at  all  times.  riley  hayes  felt  born  again  in  new  york,  urging  their  mother  to  take  their  last  name  back.  RILEY  HAYES-GOLDSTEIN  was  born  and  soon  so  was  the  idea  that  they  were  who  they  were.  he  couldn’t  imagine  who  he  would’ve  been  had  he  not  had  his  most  formative  years  in  the  five  boroughs,  independence  that  they’d  already  had  a  young  age  turned  into  something  where  their  alone  felt  holy.  safe.  writing  had  always  come  easy  where  speaking  didn’t  —  so  they  wrote.  their  days  were  often  spent  taking  trains  &  subways  around,  a  journal  in  hand  (  an  ipad  and  an  e-reader  in  another  )  with  headphones  (  both  over  ear  and  wired  )  always  on  their  person.  his  family  that  he  now  reconnected  with  in  manhattan  loved  him  (  his  best  friend  in  the  world  still  remains  his  cousin,  sahar  )  but  the  feeling  of  otherness  that  had  permeated  his  whole  childhood  lingered  like  smoke.  they  knew  they  were  loved  but  there  was  a  disconnect  in  feeling  it  due  to  years  of  feeling  so  unloved.  later  realizing  that  they  had  been  dealing  with  anxiety  &  depression  for  a  very  long  time  —  riley  wrote  to  cope  with  everything.

judaism  strengthened  the  budding  moral  compass  that  riley  had  used  to  realize  the  depth  of  the  situation  they  had  been  in  childhood.  their  mother  urged  them,  they  didn’t  have  to  do  any  of  this  —  but  it  started  to  mean  something  to  them.  the  rituals,  the  community,  the  ideals,  maybe  it  was  because  he’d  never  been  b'nei  mitzvah-ed  or  had  to  suffer  through  mandatory  years  of  hebrew  school.  maybe  he  had  rose  colored  glasses  but  there’s  things  that  riley  learned  were  morally  wrong  and  right.  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  their  grandparents  put  them  in  the  best  prep  schools  in  nyc  and  funding  their  university  &  now  grad  school.  they  believed  in  their  grandchild  as  did  riley's  mother,  as did riley's teachers, as  did  the  micro-niche  followings  on  various  social  medias  over  the  years  that  clamored  for  their  content. 

the  thing  about  SUCCESS  is  that  when  (  deep  down  )  you  think  you’re  a  fucking  loser,  that  you  don’t  belong  where  you  so  clearly  do  —  you  don’t  feel  like  you  deserve  it.  picked  up  by  an  agent,  there’s  a  poetry  book  with  riley’s  name  on  it  that  they  can’t  quite  believe  to  be  true.  they’re  stable  (enough),  they’ve  loved  school  &  been  good  at  it.  behind  the  usually  anxious,  delightfully  sarcastic  &  alarmingly  hilarious  mask  is  a  depth  that  it  feels  like  sometimes  only  their  writing  is  able  to  touch.  however,  they  damn  well  know  that  a  being  a  writer  from  a  new  york  makes  them  a  dime  a  dozen  and  they’d  never  bet  on  themselves.  imposter  syndrome  &  self  sabotage  go  hand  in  hand  if  you’re  not  careful,  riley  hopes  that  one  day  they’ll  outgrow  the  worst  of  who  they  are  to  see  the  best  that  so  many  others  see.

he  loves  this  campus,  loves  palladian,  the  weather,  all  of  it.  he  wanted  a  change  from  the  city  after  doing  undergrad  there  so  having  the  langston  students  were  a  reminder  that  he'd  have  to  go  back  to  the  city  and  figure  out  his  next  move  after  graduation.  while  writing  was  riley's  first  love,  it  was  not  a  practical  use  of  their  skills  and  in  the  age  of  social  media  -- the  palladian  school  of  art  &  design  would  refine  his  craft  of  mememaking,  understanding  the  world  through  the  lense  of  music  &  how  lyrics  inform  the  culture.  so  essentially,  riley  is  both  creating content  and  writing  about  how  trends  in  media  are  formed,  how  much  music  amongst  other  things  are  able  to  create  ideas.  how  each  person  interprets  the  world  differently  through  the  lenses  at  which  they  understand  both  the  world  &  consume  the  media  around  them.  like  investigative  journalism  but  he  refused  to  call  it  that  as  to  not  have  to  interview  people.  they  were  no  anthony  bordain.

                   𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓  𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃  𝐓𝐎  𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌  𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

(drug use mention) TLDR:  riley  is  a  melancholic  memelord  shitstain  getting  a  grad  degree  after  having  gotten  a  degree  in  creative  writing at langston for. undergrad.  almost  published  virgo  writer  with  a  microniche  social  media  following  (  used  to  be  popular  on  vine,  now  more  on  tik  tok  ).  thinks  their  balancing  out  their  constant  consumption  of  blue  raspberry  slushies,  drug  trips  &  drunken  nights,  fair food  and  bedrotting  will  be  cancelled  out  by  long  morning  runs.  secretly  hopes  when  their  father  sees  his  name  on  a  book  attached  to  the  child  he  not  only  left  but  treated  like  garbage,  that  he'll  shrivel  up  in  shame. 

LYRICAL  COMPOSITION,  POETRY  &  INTERPRETATIVE  WORLD  BUILDING?  mememaking,  understanding  the  world  through  the  lense  of  music  &  how  lyrics  inform  the  culture.  aka  fucking  around  and  finding  out  the  essay??  how  others  fuck  around  and  find  out  to  understand  the  world  around  them??  riley's  major  is  a  mistake  on  my  part  i  read  shit  wrong  but  i'm  going  with  it  because  it's  funny  to  me  an  i  think  it  actually  fits.

LIKES  &  INTERESTS:  Cult  Classics  -  Movies  (  Heathers,  Dead  Poets  Society,  Sixteen  Candles,  Ferris  Buellers  Day  Off,  Cruel  Intentions,  The  Breakfast  Club,  Almost  Famous  ),  Blue  raspberry  Slushies,  Donuts,  Judaism,  Arctic  Monkeys,  Lana  Del  Rey,  The  Strokes,  The  Smiths,  the  color  blue,  writing  poetry,  e.  e.  cummings,  langston  hughes,  audra  lorde,  art  museums,  greek  mythology,  memes,  Rolling  joints  on  his  favorite  books,  biblical  mythology,  astronomy,  astrology,  Star  Wars,  black  cats,  black  cats  named  Bogart,  black  nail  polish,  tattoos,  carnivals,  comic  books,  ferris  wheels,  puns,  the  sea,  jellyfish,  NPR  every  morning,  going  to  the  beach  at  twilight,  4  am  drives,  5am  runs,  spliff.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

ex-gf/partner/bf  (0/1):  definitely  fumbled  a  baddie  in  his  time  (or  maybe,  they  fumbled  him?)  but  we  can  work  out  the  details.

smoking  buddy  (0/3):  maybe  they  always  find  each  other  when  they  go  out  to  smoke,  maybe  they  take  smoke  breaks  together,  etc.

besties  /  platonic  connections  (0/2):  everyone  needs  some  friends  and  riley  would  probably  dead  without  these  people.

content  collaborator  (0/1):  riley  needs  oomfs  and  moots  to  make  tik  toks  with amongst other things.

movie/concert/etc.  buddy  (0/2):  riley  loves  to  go  to  brighton  to  check  out  movies,  concerts,  etc.  don't  make  him  go  alone!  even  if  he  wants  to!

open  to  literally  anything  else!!!!

[labuenosairesfrancaise]

Villa Valguarnera (Italian collection VIII)

Hi folks! 

I'm sharing Villa Valguarnera, one of the most interesting eighteenth-century villas in Bagheria, both for the architectural quality of the complex and for its position in the Bagheria landscape. 

Construction began in 1712 on a project by Tommaso Maria Napoli , architect, Dominican , designer in the same years of the nearby Villa Palagonia , in contact with the Roman environment, which introduced an architectural language of Bernini origin and a clarity of composition close to the most advanced examples of the Italian and European eighteenth century, in particular Austrian. 

When the architect died in 1725 , the villa was not yet finished and was then significantly modified. In particular, around 1780 , Giovan Battista Cascione Vaccarini was the author of the new elevations and the oval room on the main floor. 

Of great interest are the series of internal halls frescoed by Elia Interguglielmi and the marble statues crowning the attic by Ignazio Marabitti . The building was once surrounded by a vast park, enriched with coffee houses , statues and neoclassical architecture. (source: Wikipedia)

I only built the main building, as the project is placed in a 30x30 lot.

You will find a great room, 2 main bedrooms, 6 sitting rooms, a formal dinning salon, a billiard room and a ground floor to develop. 

As allways, you will need the usual CC I use: all of Felixandre, Tha Jim, SYB, Regal Sims, etc.

Please enjoy, comment if you like it and share pictures with me if you use my creations!

[akai-anna]

Rambling post about The Art TM

Firstly, a special thank you to @livmadart who fuelled my motivation with her lovely tags on my art to finish making this post as soon as I could (life just likes to get in my way). You are such an amazing person and artist (by the way, everyone should totally check out Liv's BDay piece for our favourite little menace BECAUSE IT'S GORGEOUS), and your words always mean a lot to me (even if I'm not the best at communication, for which I apologize, still love and adore you, despite the awkwardness and sporadic talks).

The Idea

My art was inspired by the amazing @detshin's piece. Ever since I've seen it, I felt the urge to make a companion piece for it; I adore the composition and the symbolism in it to bits.

The Concept

I also wanted to take my own spin on the piece. From the start I wanted:

Conan's eyes not being covered (because he can see)

Conan looking at the viewer like he is looking straight into your soul. No thoughts, head empty why, it just felt right.

His mouth to be the one that is covered in some way. The sheer symbolism of his mouth being obstructed (but cannot speak) just made my heart ache so badly.

Changing the outfit based on this musing of mine.

As for the rest, it came about when sketching around, and waiting for that CLICK in my brain. And the forget-me-nots covering his mouth was that CLICK: SYMBOLISM IS MY LIFEBLOOD.

The Materials

I had 2 techniques in mind: watercolours and soft pastels. Ultimately I decided on soft pastels because

I haven't worked with pastels in YEARS, yet I adore the technique

I haven't used these pastels since I got them from an attic cleaning that we did for an old lady last year-ish (they would have been thrown away, after YEARS OF DISUSE and my heart couldn't take it, SUCH BEAUTIFUL MATERIALS TO WASTE AWAY)

I felt that what the material has to offer suited this particular piece: the vibrant colours offering a certain contrast to the original piece, and a certain feel (especially on the right paper) to the texture.

After some testing, I decided that going with a dark background works better: it made the colours more vibrant, and the slight texture of the paper did its magic. + Dark VS Light background colour was another nice contrast between the two pieces.

The Making

At first I didn't know what to use to sketch with, so I tested a couple things, and ultimately went with a white pencil: easy enough to erase if needed but also visible enough to see on this particular paper I had.

Looking up and studying tons of reference pictures for various things (sometimes with more, sometimes with less luck): the pose, facial features, the flowers... I have a whole folder of 'em LMAO

Actually drawing that sketch LOL

Then came the colours, which I tested on a separate piece of paper, to see which ones I want to use... After that I added the main blocks of colours.

And when I liked it, proceeding with the actual colouring: mixing all the different colours and layering them. In some places I used 4-6 colours (or more, depending how you look at it), while I used only 2, but mostly 3 in others.

Lastly: I used hairspray as a fixative, which slightly changed the quality and texture of the pastels and colours. (See below.)

The Feelings

As mentioned above, it has been years (I think around a decade actually, what the fck) since I used soft pastels, so it was a bit of a challenge to get back into using the material (and I'm not as experimental and confident I want to be yet, and likely fried my brain a little in the process). Also tons of fun, though! I forgot how much fun is there in the process of creation, and this piece brought that back into my life.

[bonyfish]

experimenting with black & white infrared film at the swamp

I've been sitting on this roll of Rollei Infrared 400 for a while, but I finally bought an R72 infrared filter and headed out to the swamp! The photo above was taken on the same day as these digital shots, before we had to turn back due to high water. I was not dissuaded though, and yesterday morning I went back!

Rollei Infrared 400 is generally assumed to be respooled Agfa aerial surveillance film, and is sensitive up to 750nm into the near infrared end of the spectrum. An R72 filter blocks out all light shorter than 720nm, meaning you only get the infrared. Because of this, you won't be able to frame or focus through the lens if you're using an SLR, so I used the Yashica Lynx 14E Nik's mom gave me. Because it's a rangefinder, I could compose and focus without the filter getting in the way. I did need to buy step-up rings for my other filters though, because the Lynx has an absolutely massive lens with a 58mm filter thread.

"Wait, other filters?" Yes, as part of my experimentation, I tried my hand at trichrome photography! This is something you can do with black & white film where you make the same exposure three times through three different colored filters (typically red, green, and blue) and the composite the resulting images digitally later to achieve a full-color image. I first learned about this from Attic Darkroom on YouTube, an absolute madlad whose videos I recommend heartily. Dude developed film with Rodinal diluted in Sprite Zero Sugar.

Anyway! Here are my trichromes:

I used my aforementioned R72 filter for the red channel, a red filter for the green channel, and a green filter for the blue channel. I got the particular filter recipe from this reddit post but my results look quite different. I still like them though! I want to try green for the green channel and blue for the blue channel next time and see how it differs.

You can see more photos from my swamp walk, as well as my first hit of Kodak Aerochrome that I yet struggle to replicate, in my infrared film Flickr album!

Camera: Yashica Lynx 14E Film: Rollei Infrared 400 (exposed at EI 6, 25, or 50 depending on the filter) Filters: Flic Film R72, Hoya R25A, Hoya G(XI) Developed semi-stand in Flic Film Black/White & Green 1:100, 1hr at 68°F

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 2: Past Glory

Narrated by Modric.

Narrator: The room may not be spacious, but it's still big enough to accommodate an antique grand piano in the corner.

Narrator: Would you like me to play a song for you?

Narrator: It's a bit long, and not quite a joyful one.

Choose either "I'd like to hear it" or "Why?"

If "hear," ...

You: Sure, I'd like to hear it.

Narrator: I hope you won't find it tedious. Perhaps my song will guide you to the people and tales you're seeking.

If "why," ...

You: Why play the song?

Narrator: Music, colors, emotions... Perhaps my song will help you find the link between them all.

--

Narrator: It's been years since the tragedy at the church. I still have nightmares about the shoving crowds and the screams sometimes.

Narrator: My late father's photo still stood on the piano, next to a potted lily that had wilted from neglect.

Narrator: Everything fell apart then. My family lost our enviable status within days.

Narrator: Mother, once filled to the seams with talent, became too depressed to paint after Father passed.

Narrator: She shut herself in her room, refused to eat, refused to listen. Right now, she was no more than a lifeless marionette.

Narrator: Stacks of blueprints sat idly in the attic, edges curled from the humidity.

Narrator: Half-done sketches of robust dresses lay on the desk, forever unfinished.

Narrator: Father's compositions and personal items were the only things that remained neat and intact in the piano room.

Narrator: A room that no one ever sets foot in now. No one besides me.

Narrator: I'd often sit here alone and reminisce over those days when life was still colorful.

Narrator: Amidst the swirling colors was the silhouette of my teacher.

Narrator: The one who taught me to observe all details and sounds, to sense the mottled colors and myriad emotions in music.

Choose "Teacher?"

You: Your teacher? You mean...

Narrator: You should've heard of him.

Narrator: He was normally very solemn. It was my first impression of him, too.

Young Modric: I want to become an amazing artist... just like the legendary Mr. Leonid!

Narrator: He smiled after asking for my name. A kind, sympathetic smile, yet his words were less than encouraging.

Teacher: You'll never become him.

Narrator: But he later added...

Teacher: And you don't have to become him.

Teacher: Art, like the vast universe, can't be defined by a single standard. You shouldn't strive to become someone else.

Narrator: That was how my teacher was... always talking in a confusing way. Always wearing an old cloak, like a figure in a history book.

Narrator: Father attempted to get a stylish outfit customized for him once, but decided against it after my teacher tried it on.

Fathe: Your original outfit seems to suit your scholarly, classy aura much better.

Narrator: My teacher and I both bought the explanation, until I overheard my father muttering to himself one day.

Young Modric: Turned out Father thought you looked striking in the new outfit. He didn't want Mother to see...

Teacher: ...

Narrator: My parents treated my teacher to expensive caviar and freshly-caught fish once. My teacher simply scowled.

Mom: Don't like the taste?

Narrator: Mother asked. My teacher shook his head.

Teacher: I used to live on the seas. I've had too much fish.

Narrator: Out of respect for my teacher, my parents would often discuss my academic endeavors with him.

Father: Shouldn't Modric start lessons in other subjects soon? Perhaps we should hire some tutors who specialize in those?

Narrator: My teacher fell uncharacteristically silent.

Teacher: What other lessons does he need?

Father: History, mathematics, painting, ancient Pigeon Kingdom languages...

Narrator: That was how my music teacher ended up becoming my teacher in a variety of other subjects.

Narrator: On breezy summer nights, my parents would often invite him to a classic opera performance with us.

Narrator: The lights of the opera house were always so dazzling. I could never decipher the words crowding the pamphlets.

Narrator: So, I'd ask my teacher to explain all those difficult terms to me.

Narrator: He didn't even need to refer to the pamphlets.

Narrator: He'd just ramble on about Pigeon Kingdom history. Many passers-by found it impressive.

Narrator: Some girls from aristocrat families would even approach him.

Narrator: My teacher barely acknowledged them, though, and my parents would have to step in.

Narrator: I wanted to be just like my teacher. I started imitating his fancy handwriting and memorizing ancient Pigeon Kingdom texts.

Narrator: And then it happened. One day, my teacher didn't show up in the piano room when it was time for lessons.

Narrator: And he never showed up again. He vanished just like that, as suddenly as he had entered our lives.

Narrator: I tried to follow his teachings, to observe the hue of each melody, to sense all the colors in the world with my heart.

Narrator: But the colors in the world soon faded away to gray.

Narrator: Back then, I didn't know that gray, too, was a color. Just like how pain, too, was an emotion.

Narrator: Time was a tricky thing. It dragged out painful moments and made happy ones seem fleeting.

Narrator: The sun set. The golden glow cast over the piano was as lovely as that of the sunsets in my memories.

Narrator: I placed my hands on the keyboard, yet could not bring myself to play a single note.

Narrator: Then, a pair of familiar hands appeared in my vision and pressed the first notes of the song I've long stopped practicing.

Narrator: I looked up. Those eyes obscured by the silver strands were still the same, as profound and serene as ever.

Narrator: My teacher had returned.

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

[casskeeps]

new york kouros

basics

name: new york kouros

date: 590-580 bce (early archaic)

artist: unknown

function: attic grave marker

size: ~195cm - about life size

original, reconstructed, or copy: original naxian marble

subject matter

this statue is a kouros: a statue of a nude male figure. number one thing to remember is that most kouroi are not supposed to depict real people - instead, they are more of a representation of idealised youth.

context

beginning of the archaic period ! this statue is the product of a process called orientalising: the process where egyptian artistic features are assimilated into greek art. the greeks first came into contact with egyptians in around 660 bce, and the influence of egyptian art is very clearly visible in the new york kouros (elaboration in stylistic features).

composition

the pose of the statue is highly rigid, and appears to sacrifice naturalism of anatomy for structural integrity. this is most evident in the "impossible twist" in the wrists, and the positioning of the feet.

the wrists are profile, flat next to the thigh (although bridged by a support), despite the elbow and inner forearms being frontal and facing the viewer. while this allows for sounder support between the hands and thighs, making the arms harder to break off, it detracts from the naturalism by depicting an anatomically improbable positioning of the hand and wrist in relation to the rest of the arm.

the feet, while not anatomically impossible, also demonstrate a sacrifice of naturalism for balance and structure; the pose of the kouros emulates a person walking, but it lacks the naturalism of the action. this effect is created by the straightened legs (there is no bend in the knee joint), and the flattened feet. the flat feet and rigid legs create an impression of stillness, as opposed to the shift of weight shown by later statues by the raising of the heel of the foot.

the anatomy of the face and head also demonstrate the common difficulties depicting humans in archaic sculpture; the ears are created using a volute shape for the shell of the ear, and the eyes are a stylised almond shape and oversized for the face. the use of abstract shapes to depict natural forms can be referred to as geometricism, and the oversized eyes can be referred to as "insectoid".

the kouros has a relatively emotionless face; it has an archaic smile in order to give it more of an impression of life, but the rest of the face doesn't respond to the muscles. this is what makes the archaic smile unsettling and almost inhuman to many viewers - it lacks proper interaction between muscles.

the proportions of the statue also demonstrate the effects of geometricism on archaic greek art; the torso is much wider at the shoulders than at the hips and waist, creating a triangle shape to represent the form of the upper body. the entire body is slender, and the digits are much longer than human digits - this is particularly evident in the toes, which are noticeably lengthened.

stylistic features

this kouros is highly typical of the archaic period, particularly the early archaic period - it is highly influenced by both geometricism and egyptian art.

the anatomy has many features of archaic period - particularly the abstract shapes used to represent the more complex natural forms. these include volutes in the representation of the ears, gull-wings (like m and w shapes) in the pectorals, eyebrows, and knees, and chevrons (v shapes) in the elbows, knees, iliac crest, and to represent the bottom of the ribcage.

the subject is also highly typical of the archaic period, as a nude male figure (a kouros), but it's important to note that the nude male figure perseveres through greek sculpture, even to the late classical period and beyond

scholars

harris and zucker: "the lack of contrapposto, the symmetry, does place him in some ways firmly in a world that is not ours"

osborne: "this kouros is particularly important, not only for the fine details, but also for its proportions"

extra information

khan academy

the metropolitan museum

smarthistory