#classics studies

I'm doing my last study session for tomorrow's linguistics exam right now

Its so much reading im going a little insane, but the bibliography is so good im actually enjoying it (and also, the reason i have to read all the Chapters now is that i didnt when they were assigned, so thats just the consequences of my own actions coming back to eat my brain out)

I just had a little dinner break and decided to share a bit of my suffering with you guys

Please wish me luck tomorrow, im feeling i will actually need it!

And also, this is me praying to my patron saints of studying Remus Lupin, Elle Woods and [insert here Dead Old Greek Guy's name] so i can have strenght to do as much as possible tonight and wisdom to understand the very nonsensical theories im reading

Have a sneak peak into my very pained non-aesthetic setup tonight:

Oolong Ti Kuan Yin and poetry.

(In image: Song of Myself, 18-19)

With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums,

I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquer'd and slain persons.

Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?

I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.

I beat and pound for the dead,

I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.

Vivas to those who have fail'd!

And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!

And to those themselves who sank in the sea!

And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes!

And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known!

This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger,

It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous, I make appointments with all,

I will not have a single person slighted or left away,

The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby invited,

The heavy-lipp'd slave is invited, the venerealee is invited;

There shall be no difference between them and the rest.

This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair,

This the touch of my lips to yours, this the murmur of yearning,

This the far-off depth and height reflecting my own face,

This the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again.

Do you guess I have some intricate purpose?

Well I have, for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has.

Do you take it I would astonish?

Does the daylight astonish? does the early redstart twittering through the woods?

Do I astonish more than they?

This hour I tell things in confidence,

Some writers in some situations may strain against rhetorical shenanigans, for example striving for the specificity of logical notation: the cluster of reasonable meanings of such texts may well thus be less diffuse than for those which, say, revel in pun and performance.

But a text with one 'true' meaning is a chimera. Analysis is not closure, but an attempt to discern reasonable meaning(s) close to the core of that cluster, and to contest those that range too far from it."