And it Burns, Burns, Burns

"Words are never 'only words'; they matter because they define the contours of what we can do."
-Slavoj Zizek

Tonight (or rather this morning) in a brownie-driven frenzy, I looked up the definitions of "love" and "hate." They were completely and totally inadequate. In fact, never once in my life have I heard a good, solid, comprehensive definition of either. Sure, people spout off aphorisms such as "Love means never having to say you're sorry" or some other bullshit, but there are no real definitions. People merely accept love and hate as such abstract, untouchable absolutes. The possible spectrum of love is too broad, so as to cover all manner of sins. The matter is complicated with the addition of prepositions; "I love you, but I'm not in love with you."

These tiny little words contain a universe of meaning. And for goodness sakes, it's just damned confusing. The Greeks had different words for friendly love (φιλία) and romantic love (έρως), and even "true" love (αγάπη). English really should take advantage of these very important distinctions. Also lacking, in just about every language that I know (which is nothing to sneer at) is a word that describes exactly how Catullus feels:

odi et amo. quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?
nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

I hate and I love. Why do I do this, perhaps you ask?
I know not, but I feel it happening and I am tortured.

And with this elegiac couplet, we can understand every single Johnny Cash song a bit better.

Achilles' Choice

The title refers to the movie Troy, which was both a bastardization but also a surprisingly breathtaking rendition of the Iliad. I do not recall that Achilles actually had a choice between long life or great glory presented to him in the actual Greek, and I believe this was an intentional change by the director. After all, being doomed is one kind of sad, but we all know that tragic is all about suffering from your own choices. Othello comes to mind as the perfect tragic hero; he singlehandedly destroys his own life.

Musicians, but country artists in particular, are the last real tragic heroes of our world. Consider the fate of Hank Williams, loving and losing, drunk and high, dying alone in the back of a Cadillac. The Old Guard of Country were given the choice. And they chose glory.

The Weary Kind
-Ryan Bingham

Your heart's on the loose
You rolled them sevens with nothing to lose
And this ain't no place for the weary kind.

You called all your shots
Shooting 8 ball at the corner truck stop
Somehow this don't feel like home anymore.

And this ain't no place for the weary kind
And this ain't no place to lose your mind
And this ain't no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try.

Your body aches
Playing your guitar and sweating out the hate
The days and nights all feel the same.

Whiskey has been a thorn in your side
And it doesn't forget
The highway that calls for your heart inside.

And this ain't no place for the weary kind
And this ain't no place to lose your mind
And this ain't no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try.

Your lovers won't kiss
Its too damn far from your fingertips
You are the man that ruined her world.

Your heart's on the loose
You rolled them sevens with nothing to lose
And this ain't no place for the weary kind.

But now our world is different; this is NOT Sparta. This is a land of no-smoking signs, AA and Taylor Swift singing about prom night. This ain't no place for the Hank Williams of the world.

Marie-Thérèse Walter lives in every woman

Songs about heartbreak are always hard. If you're really over him/her, why are you writing a song about him/her? Carly Simon really understood this paradox when she sang, "I bet you think this song is about you..."

Kerosene
-Miranda Lambert

I’m waitin’ on the sun to set cause yesterday aint over yet
I started smoking cigarettes there's nothing else to, I guess
Dusty roads aint made for walking, spinning tires aint made for stoppin’
I’m giving up on love cause love’s given up on me

I gave it everything I had and everything I got was bad
Life aint hard but it’s too long to live it like some country song
Trade the truth in for a lie, cheating really aint a crime
I’m giving up on love cause love’s given up on me

Forget your high society, I’m soakin’ it in Kerosene
Light ‘em up and watch them burn, teach them what they need to learn HA!
Dirty hands aint made for shakin’, aint a rule that aint worth breakin’
Well I’m giving up on love cause love’s given up on me

Now I don’t hate the one who left You cant hate someone whos dead
He’s out there holding on to someone, I’m holding up my smoking gun
I’ll find somewhere to lay my blame the day she changes her last name
Well I’m giving up on love cause love’s given up on me
Well I’m giving up on love HEY love’s given up on me

I particularly like the lack of focus in this song. There's anger and revenge and jealousy, but also a forced disregard for the Ex. She talks about "high society" and "dirty hands," but in the end, she's really angry at love. The perfect rantings of a woman scorned.

Lasciate ogni speranza...

The two warnings for this blog are:

1.) Very little of it will be original writing. I am not so arrogant as to think I can better express philosophical thoughts than Plato or Aquinas, nor more beautiful poetry than Homer and Shakespeare, nor more raw emotion than Johnny Cash and Hank Williams. (But I am almost that arrogant.)

2.) I expect anyone who has stumbled upon this blog to be intelligent enough to understand my references or at least be able to perform a basic Google search.

Philosophy and Classical Studies are supposed to be confusing!