it was never Icarus’ intention
                 to make a myth of himself -

let the boy fly

let the him leave footprints of a boy who
               held his breath and
                                             loved a god

let him make a home in the
                                             s u n.

—  still the wings refuse to stretch further | b.s.h

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The Spine

i. Cervical Curve

Granting Thetis’s wish, great Zeus
shook his head, using the atlanto-axial joint*
to turn it; with his dark brows the son
of Kronos inclined his head, consenting
to Greek pain, for swift-living Achilles’ sake.
*If gods have such joints: after all
it is a landmark on the human spine.

ii. The Thoracic Vertebrae

This is what happens when the back
is broken, when the nerves that conduct
the orders of the brain from command
center to the thing commanded
are severed, as by Achilles’ great spear:
everything goes dark; the electricity
that led from mind to foot, that creates
Hector’s swiftness, is undone.
(They chase each other around
the city, whose spine Hector is;
Achilles is like a dog chasing a hare,
to catch and shake, to break its neck.)

iii. Lumbar Spine

Each vertebra slots into place with a crack
as his spine straightens to throw the spear,
as he throws, as he watches to see it hit,
as he falls, exhausted by grief and exertion,
as Zeus’ plan, seen from the start, is accomplished.

iv. Sacrum

Every part of him is holy, but this part
is holier by its name, given by Galen,
perhaps because this is the piece
of the animal that was sacrificed,
as the heroes were sacrificed to history.

v. Coccyx

In humans it is only the memory of a tail;
but it is an anchor for muscle and nerve,
important like the final line, falling into place:
thus they buried Hector, tamer of horses.

they thought they killed me when they /
case me out but I am /
so alive and I /
have been crushing hearts for /
centuries, laughing at their /
names and stomping /
on their graves and I eat /
and eat and eat /
and play the angel and /
they’re dirt dirt dirt and /
I will never die I will never die

M Y T H S: Eleos

The personification of pity or mercy, had an altar in the agora at Athens. “The Athenians,” says Pausanias (i. 17. § 1), “are the only ones among the Hellenes that worship this divine being, and among all the gods this is the most useful to human life in all its vicissitudes.” Those who implored the assistance of the Athenians, such as Adrastus and the Heracleidae, approached as suppliants the altar of Eleos. (Apollod. ii. 8. § 1, iii. 7. § 1; Schol ad Soph. Oed. Col. 258) [x]


modern aesthetic mythology | hera

she looks at the woman dressed in white, making her way down the aisle that was mossy green, autumn leaves sprinkled by the flower girls. she remembers nearly laughing at the bride’s request. no flowers? what wedding exists with no flowers but leaves that have since died and been cast from its family of branches to be seemed into the ground and mixed with the mud? but not all brides are the same. she tells herself this every time a new bride comes to her, looking to plan the best wedding.

she encourages white - white everything. white flowers. white decor. white wine. she would tell every woman that peacock feathers are very trendy this wedding season - especially the white ones, but those come at a premium rate. even when a bride says no, she includes them in the wedding bouquet. white peacock feathers are classic. like princess diana. she recalls the princess’s royal wedding - it was one of her favorites to plan.

the wedding goes off with a hitch right down to the taupe tablecloths and centerpiece vases with floating white orchids. she isn’t surprised. all her weddings are perfect because they are planned her way. brides come to her, thinking that she can give them their perfect weddings. but they’re all wrong. she gives them the perfect wedding they need - a ceremony that promises them to their spouses. that is why she is booked for the next three years.

if she only hadn’t loved weddings since she was a little girl.

it isn’t when she is back home, her silk robe on her tired shoulders that she looks at the photo on her bedside table, the chrome of the frame distorting her eyes in the mirror-like reflection. beneath the polished glass is a photo.

a photo of the most beautiful bride.
the happiest.

she slips into bed and sighs, feeling the cool sheets against her pale arms. she glances over at the space beside her, perfectly made and untouched.

she’s used to having a large bed to herself. so she scoots into the middle of the bed and closes her eyes.

if her husband returns tonight, he can sleep on their four-thousand dollar sofa that she used his credit card to buy.

in fact, she thinks that she’ll use that same platinum piece of plastic and soak in a tub of dom perignon in the morrow.


because she can do whatever the hell she wants.

Werewolf Discourse

Why? Why does there always have to be a complex flashy gif to the side of the screen when I write these? I’m trying to pay attention to writing but for hell’s sake, your trashy ad keeps ripping my eyes off the page. Ugh.

Oh, how rude of me. Enough about me, how are you today? Nice, nice. Hey, while you’re here, do you wanna talk about werewolves? I mean, it’s almost October while I’m writing this, and October means Halloween, and it’s never too early to get spooky. But see, a lot of things bother me about werewolves. For a form that’s supposed to be releasing and savage, there’s sure a lot of rules surrounding them.

I don’t know about you, but I just don’t know how realistic they are. Therefore…

*Inception voice* WE NEED TO GO DEEPER.

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