The 3d Model...the Way He Goes From Staring Longingly At His Reflection To Hitting The Second Pose As

Well, time to ramble about the Iliad again even tho no one asked, yay! This time it's about language: there's one specific expression which I'm kind of obsessed with, and it's φίλη κεφαλή (phìle kephalè).

So, phìle is the feminine form of the adjective phìlos (the word where philtatos comes from), which obviously means "dear", "beloved": but by extension, in the Homeric language especially, it means "something that belongs to someone". Which actually makes sense because it's basically implied that if something belongs to someone, it has to be something dear to them. And this is mostly used with body parts (like, instead of saying "my hands", in Homer you'd find something along "the dear hands" and so on.)

And that's where kephalè comes in! The word literally means "head". In the poem there's a lot of talking about heads: chopped heads, disfigured heads, pierced heads, and so on. But many times, metaphorically, it can also mean "body" or "life". Why? Because, since the head is the most important part of one's body, it is the essential part in order to live. And of course it's "dear" to you, because otherwise you'd be dead.

So what happens if you put the two words together? You basically get an affectionate form of address, which could be translated to "my dear head", but most precisely "my dear life".

In the Iliad, when Achilles learns of Patroclus' death, he states to have loved him "like his own head" (kephalè is the word he uses), and right after, he refers to Hector as the man who killed his phìle kephalè...

Because the head is to the body what Patroclus is to Achilles: the most important and precious part of himself. And now that he's lost him, he feels as if Hector had killed a whole part of himself, the one that kept him alive. Because his head has been literally torn away from him.

Also in another passage he refers to Patroclus as ηθείη κεφαλή (hethèie kephalè), where hethèie basically means "sweet", "beloved", "worthy of honor". And once again the "head".

I'll stop rambling for now, but this stuff was just too beautiful not to be talked about?? (and for me not to hyperfixate over it)

Found this exact random panel on Pinterest last year, wondered who these two were since they looked sad and cute, read the story, watched the anime. Life destroyed since then👍👌

Things Zagreus and Melinoe have in common:

1. Um...being siblings

2. Having heterocromia

3. Banging Nyx's children

4. Fighting? Idk

5. Accepting messages from Olympus

6. Have I already mentioned Nyx's children

7. Fishing

we know Achilles, we know

No one fucking talk to me I’m mourning my beautiful wife patroclus

Ancient Roman bust (one of my favorites ever) recolored in 6 different shades by me

"But if I were not Alexander, I wish I were Diogenes."

Classics: What is Lost in Translation

There's a lot of discourse on the faithfulness of retellings, but today I want to talk about the sources themselves. A lot of us engage with the classics in languages that are far from the ones that they were originally written in, and to do so we must do so through translations.

Translators are incredibly skilled people. When it comes to Greco-Roman works, most of them are Classicists who have dedicated their lives to the study of these. But, we should remember that no translation is perfect, by virtue of being translated. What does this mean? It is very rare, even in languages that are related to one another (think Romance languages, like Spanish, French, and Italian) for a word to have a direct translation that carries over every meaning and connotation of the original. This means that while there may be an apt word to take the place of the original, certain meanings can be lost in translation, especially when translating literature, where the choice of word in itself is an artform that can convey much more meaning than what's evident (wordplay, implications, rhyme, etc.). A translation should convey all of the original meaning of the work being translated, but what is the best way to do this? Is it through coming as close as possible to word-for-word faithfulness as we can, or by taking some liberties in favour of trying to expressing what the original author conveyed? This is a question that has been a topic of debate for as long as translations have existed, and people are divided on the answer still. Personally, I stand at a middle ground: faithfulness to the text is important, but oftentimes, it can result in us missing a lot of meaning, so a degree of liberties taken is acceptable if it does result in conveying that meaning. Let's also keep in mind that translations can become dated overtime! Language evolves as time passes, and with it, the meaning of words changes. Such being the case, what conveyed a certain meaning to someone a century ago may no longer do so for the modern reader. This also why translation from an older form of a language to its modern one may result in a loss too. Are all translations bad, then? Not at all! If you want to engage with a piece of literature that isn't in your language, you can and you should! The classics are classics for a reason, and I personally believe that everyone should know these works because they're wonderful and there's so many incredible translations of them out there! So, mainly, I just want people to be aware that not everything that we see in a translation may be entirely faithful to the source; we may never know exactly every single thing of what Homer intended to convey, because we're not his original audience, engaging with his work at the time that it was written, and in the language that it was written. Some translations come much closer than others and are praised as much more faithful, and you can find a ton of discussions online where the virtues and faults of one translation vs another are compared. I would love for people to be encouraged to look into different translations of works that they enjoy, because it's fascinating to see the differences in choices made by one translation and another. Translation is an art in its own accord, it takes incredible skill, and when reading a translation we're not just engaging with the work of the original author, but with the interpretation of a certain translator — viewing the classics through their eyes.

Rough WIP

"At these words, a black cloud of grief shrouded him. Grasping handfuls of dark sand and ash, he poured them over his head and handsome face, soiling his scented tunic. Then he flung himself in the dust, and lying there outstretched, tore and fouled his hair. [...] Antilochus, weeping and groaning, grasped his hand, fearing he might take his knife and cut his own throat, so heart-felt was his noble grief."

For some reason, I picture him completely dissociated, just blankly starting into the void...

They're taking him away from me. Away from our bed, where he rested still next to me, to lay him onto a new, unknown one.

Why are they taking him away from me? What if he feels cold, trapped all alone in that pitch-black, bottomless bed?

What if he starts shaking, what if the words "I'm cold" suddenly fall from his angelic lips, and I'm not there to cover him up?

He needs warmth, he needs to be held tightly and caressed! But this time, they're not letting me sleep by his side.

Is he going to sleep a lonely, endless night without love?

Will that cold, hard wood be soft and warm enough for him?

(no because I just found this thing in my notes app from an old note I wrote at like 3am and now I'm crying and sobbing like??)

The soon-to-be best of the Greeks, the short-fated hero. The grief of his people.

She had given birth to her own sorrow; but all she could do was cradle it gently in her arms.