Kurrs' Digital Tapestry of Words

Once again, I approach the end of Homer's first epic, the tale of the wrath of Achilles. Blood and gore, passion and love, hate and pain, each page speaks deeper of the tragedy and glory of war and the brutality of death. I'm kinda sad, because I don't want to just read it again, but there is really nothing like it.

While in England, me and Meg talked about the greek epics quite a bit. There was even a point when the only books we were carrying around for "light reading" were "The Iliad", "The Oddessey", and the "Pocket Classical Dictionary". The fact this occurred in Oxford was even more amusing. We talked about which characters were closest to ourselves, and I felt that she really should read the Oddessey because the very idea of Odesseus, that of "doing the absolute best with what you have" seemed to be something Meg needed to understand in herself. Then we bandied about the idea that I was like Paris or Hektor, either a creature of reoccuring infatuations or of someone fighting an insurmountable war that must be fought.

But, recently, since my return, I got to talking with Patti. She thinks I am more like Achilles and I tend to agree. There is a part of me that rebels against that, a bit that says "saying you're like Achilles is arrogant" because that's what my classics teacher always said. But I am someone who follows my own moral code, despite what anyone else might think. I am someone who feels so deeply that I will do so against all opposition, and that for all my epic qualities, I have epic faults as well. Blameless Langmuirian Christoph. I even am good friends with great-hearted Quintonian Angus the spear famed. The Aias for my Achilles.

Anyways, I'm rambling. I love the Iliad. Love it to pieces.