Tired and confused. No wonder it past 12 o’clock. The words I am writing are not really my own. My thoughts jump much aster tahn I can type, and my typing is crazy wrong. I write with words I have recenetly read and seen. They are repetitions of things. Do I really think like that? Where does the meaning changes interchanges and exchanges between my thoughts and what my fingers do. In what language do I actually think? Is it English, Latvian – do my thought have a language or do I think in images – are the thoughts a cross between images and text – symbols that gain meaning to others only through text and image. They are not either but there is no other way of expressing. And expressing is ever so importnat. Expressing to myself more than anyone else. But how does that make sense? The others are only in the way to understand what I mean and what I want. It is all about myself. Narcissus is yet just another person, we all are Narcissus, there is no exeption. We are born alone, we die alone, we live alone. The others are only reflections of our own selves. They are in the way for us to understand ourselves. The text is image and image is text. They both deploy symbols to be understood. Undrestood, reflection and taken out from the constant flood of thoughts. Thoughts that only gain meaning in text and image. They give us revelation when seen from outside. They need to ebe ejected, thrown out with energy, they break the page, the air, the silence, the emptiness. They cross it and leave a trace, yet unseen in any other way. They leave legacy, they live seperate to us. They have their own lives. They are born out of us. After they have no relation to us, they gain diffeent faces, interpretation, duplicates one after another. Transformations that occur from the image, gives impact to the image itself and to ourselves. The images and text transforms the way we think and transfords itself. We see it differently just by seeing it in the first place. The constant changes require a dialogue. Dialogue in which the text changes and the image therefore changing ourselves with it. There is need for both to see our own face, face that we cannot see in any other way. The text and image are not visual, they require all senses to make a sense.
The ugly end of Narcissus
Ancient manuscript sheds new light on an enduring myth
by David Keys
Narcissus, Greek mythology’s most tragic figure, didn’t die of a broken heart, but collapsed into a pool of blood after committing suicide, according to a new discovery. A previously unknown account of Narcissus’s demise – which appears to pre-date all other known versions – has been discovered among ancient manuscripts stored at Oxford University.
This early version – a Greek poem – probably dates from the mid-first century BC and differs from the oft-quoted account by the Roman poet Ovid written about half a century later.
‘Following this discovery it is becoming increasingly clear that the myth was altered by Ovid to broaden its appeal,’ said the Oxford scholar who discovered the poem, Dr Benjamin Henry of the university’s classics faculty.
Narcissus was so beautiful that vast numbers of men (not Echo and other females, in the newly discovered poem) fell in love with him. However, such was his egocentricity that he spurned them all, leaving a trail of heartbreak behind him. Finally, a rejected suitor persuaded one of the gods to deal with him. Narcissus was made to stare for ever at his own image, reflected in a pool of water. The more he stared, the more desperately he fell in love with himself.
According to Ovid, Narcissus – pining from a broken heart – wasted away and died, whereupon he turned into the world’s very first narcissus flower. However the earlier version has now revealed that the original myth probably had a less peaceful, more violent denouement, ending in bloody suicide.