Work Text:
There is a room. And in the room, there is a weaving loom. On the weaving loom, there are threads fastened vertically, warps. In the room, on the weaving loom, interwoven with the warps, the thread of the weft is almost finished, almost. There is a room with a woven cloth, with warps and wefts, colorfully depicting scene upon scene of the Gods deceiving and seducing fair Maidens.
There is a room. And in the room, there is a weaving loom. On the weaving loom, there are threads fastened vertically, warps. In the room, on the weaving loom, interwoven with the warps, the thread of the weft is almost finished, almost. There is a room with a woven cloth, with warps and wefts, colorfully depicting scene upon scene of the Gods deceiving and seducing fair Maidens.
And admits this room and the weaving loom and the cloth and the Gods, there is a spider in her web.
And in this room, there is a spider, weaving her ancient web, her crafty fingers are spidery legs.
˙suǝpıɐW oʍʇ-ʎʇuǝʍʇ ǝɹɐ ǝɹǝɥʇ puɐ ɯooɹ ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥ⊥ ˙pǝdɐɹ ƃuıǝq 'pǝʌıǝɔǝp ƃuıǝq suǝpıɐW pǝƃuoɹʍ ǝuo-ʎʇuǝʍʇ ɟo pu∀
˙spo⅁ ʎʇɥƃıɯʃɐ puɐ ssǝʃɥʇɐǝp ǝɥʇ ɟo sǝuǝɔs ǝuo-ʎʇuǝʍʇ ǝɹɐ ʇı uo puɐ ɥʇoʃɔ ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥ⊥ ˙ɥʇoʃɔ ɐ puɐ ɯooɹ ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥ⊥
There is a room. And in the room, there is a weaving loom. On the weaving loom, there are threads fastened vertically, warps. In the room, on the weaving loom, interwoven with the warps, the thread of the weft is almost finished, almost. There is a room with a woven cloth, with warps and wefts, colorfully depicting scene upon scene of the Gods deceiving and seducing fair Maidens.
And admits this room and the weaving loom and the cloth and the Gods, there is a spider in her web.
And in this room, there is a spider, weaving her ancient web, her crafty fingers are spidery legs.
Once upon a time, there was a Maiden. She was not known for her place of birth or her family. She was not as faithful as Penelope or beautiful as Helen, she was not as devoted as Antigone or clever as Ariadne, she didn’t have a famous companion like Briseis or was as strong as Penthesilea, she was not gifted with prophecy like Cassandra or as persuasive as Lysistrata. She was not a queen or a princess or a goddess or a slave. A humble birth, a humble home: She was the daughter of a shepherd and a weaver, like so many women were before her and afterwards. However, the nymphs of the mountains and rivers came by to admire her workmanship, to watch her crafting cloth and twirling the spindle. The Maiden was skilled and graceful in what she did. And proud of it. And yet, humans being proud had always upset the Gods and Goddesses.
Athena came, disguised as an old crone, limping, gray, and withered. And with a voice raw like sand and brittle like shards, she warned the Maiden:
“Do not shun what came before you. The Goddess of Handicraft has more skill than you, for she has invented weaving. Show penitence, be humble, rash maid, and ask for forgiveness.”
But the Maiden didn’t think to obey and bow. She was angered and challenged the Goddess to a competition. Swiftly, Athena revealed herself and promptly, both women started to weave, determined. Athena created a tapestry, depicting the twelve Gods and Goddesses, triumphal and royal, just and glorious, all-mighty and eternal. Amidst them, she portrayed herself in a contest with the God of the Sea, fighting over patronizing Attica. Her gift, the olive tree, his gift, a mare. The Goddess won, and thus was the outcome she expected from this contest as well. The Maiden wove a cloth with twenty-one scenes. Her elegant and slender fingers twirled the threads, creating figurines. Gods and Maidens. Perpetrator and Prey. And the tapestry was not just beautiful but also true, filled with the crimes of the Gods and their wretched victims. The Goddess was furious and envy ran through her, hot as a flame, and no Deity ever was a fair loser. So she hit the Maiden, repeatedly, until the victorious weaver had no resort but to hang herself. But Athena was having none of it because escaping was not something the immortal entities accepted of their playthings. So she untangled the girl and cursed the Maiden:
“Live on and hang, and all your children and descendants, until the end of time, will share your doom.” And with that, the Goddess transformed her into a spider. Was it pity or spite?
˙suǝpıɐW oʍʇ-ʎʇuǝʍʇ ǝɹɐ ǝɹǝɥʇ puɐ ɯooɹ ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥ⊥ ˙pǝdɐɹ ƃuıǝq 'pǝʌıǝɔǝp ƃuıǝq suǝpıɐW pǝƃuoɹʍ ǝuo-ʎʇuǝʍʇ ɟo pu∀
˙spo⅁ ʎʇɥƃıɯʃɐ puɐ ssǝʃɥʇɐǝp ǝɥʇ ɟo sǝuǝɔs ǝuo-ʎʇuǝʍʇ ǝɹɐ ʇı uo puɐ ɥʇoʃɔ ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥ⊥ ˙ɥʇoʃɔ ɐ puɐ ɯooɹ ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥ⊥
There is a room. And in the room, there is a weaving loom. On the weaving loom, there are threads fastened vertically, warps. In the room, on the weaving loom, interwoven with the warps, the thread of the weft is almost finished, almost. There is a room with a woven cloth, with warps and wefts, colorfully depicting scene upon scene of the Gods deceiving and seducing fair Maidens.
And admits this room and the weaving loom and the cloth and the Gods, there is a spider in her web.
And in this room, there is a spider, weaving her ancient web, her crafty fingers are spidery legs.
Once upon a time, there was a Maiden. She was not known for her place of birth or her family. She was not as faithful as Penelope or beautiful as Helen, she was not as devoted as Antigone or clever as Ariadne, she didn’t have a famous companion like Briseis or was as strong as Penthesilea, she was not gifted with prophecy like Cassandra or as persuasive as Lysistrata. She was not a queen or a princess or a goddess or a slave. A humble birth, a humble home: She was the daughter of a shepherd and a weaver, like so many women were before her and afterwards. However, the nymphs of the mountains and rivers came by to admire her workmanship, to watch her crafting cloth and twirling the spindle. The Maiden was skilled and graceful in what she did. And proud of it. And yet, humans being proud had always upset the Gods and Goddesses.
Athena came, disguised as an old crone, limping, gray, and withered. And with a voice raw like sand and brittle like shards, she warned the Maiden:
“Do not shun what came before you. The Goddess of Handicraft has more skill than you, for she has invented weaving. Show penitence, be humble, rash maid, and ask for forgiveness.”
But the Maiden didn’t think to obey and bow. She was angered and challenged the Goddess to a competition. Swiftly, Athena revealed herself and promptly, both women started to weave, determined. Athena created a tapestry, depicting the twelve Gods and Goddesses, triumphal and royal, just and glorious, all-mighty and eternal. Amidst them, she portrayed herself in a contest with the God of the Sea, fighting over patronizing Attica. Her gift, the olive tree, his gift, a mare. The Goddess won, and thus was the outcome she expected from this contest as well. The Maiden wove a cloth with twenty-one scenes. Her elegant and slender fingers twirled the threads, creating figurines. Gods and Maidens. Perpetrator and Prey. And the tapestry was not just beautiful but also true, filled with the crimes of the Gods and their wretched victims. The Goddess was furious and envy ran through her, hot as a flame, and no Deity ever was a fair loser. So she hit the Maiden, repeatedly, until the victorious weaver had no resort but to hang herself. But Athena was having none of it because escaping was not something the immortal entities accepted of their playthings. So she untangled the girl and cursed the Maiden:
“Live on and hang, and all your children and descendants, until the end of time, will share your doom.” And with that, the Goddess transformed her into a spider. Was it pity or spite?
weaving
˙suǝpıɐW oʍʇ-ʎʇuǝʍʇ ǝɹɐ ǝɹǝɥʇ puɐ ɯooɹ ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥ⊥ ˙pǝdɐɹ ƃuıǝq 'pǝʌıǝɔǝp ƃuıǝq suǝpıɐW pǝƃuoɹʍ ǝuo-ʎʇuǝʍʇ ɟo pu∀
˙spo⅁ ʎʇɥƃıɯʃɐ puɐ ssǝʃɥʇɐǝp ǝɥʇ ɟo sǝuǝɔs ǝuo-ʎʇuǝʍʇ ǝɹɐ ʇı uo puɐ ɥʇoʃɔ ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥ⊥ ˙ɥʇoʃɔ ɐ puɐ ɯooɹ ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥ⊥
There is a room. And in the room, there is a weaving loom. On the weaving loom, there are threads fastened vertically, warps. In the room, on the weaving loom, interwoven with the warps, the thread of the weft is almost finished, almost. There is a room with a woven cloth, with warps and wefts, colorfully depicting scene upon scene of the Gods deceiving and seducing fair Maidens.
And admits this room and the weaving loom and the cloth and the Gods, there is a spider in her web.
And in this room, there is a spider, weaving her ancient web, her crafty fingers are spidery legs.
Once upon a time, there was a Maiden. She was not known for her place of birth or her family. She was not as faithful as Penelope or beautiful as Helen, she was not as devoted as Antigone or clever as Ariadne, she didn’t have a famous companion like Briseis or was as strong as Penthesilea, she was not gifted with prophecy like Cassandra or as persuasive as Lysistrata. She was not a queen or a princess or a goddess or a slave. A humble birth, a humble home: She was the daughter of a shepherd and a weaver, like so many women were before her and afterwards. However, the nymphs of the mountains and rivers came by to admire her workmanship, to watch her crafting cloth and twirling the spindle. The Maiden was skilled and graceful in what she did. And proud of it. And yet, humans being proud had always upset the Gods and Goddesses.
Athena came, disguised as an old crone, limping, gray, and withered. And with a voice raw like sand and brittle like shards, she warned the Maiden:
“Do not shun what came before you. The Goddess of Handicraft has more skill than you, for she has invented weaving. Show penitence, be humble, rash maid, and ask for forgiveness.”
But the Maiden didn’t think to obey and bow. She was angered and challenged the Goddess to a competition. Swiftly, Athena revealed herself and promptly, both women started to weave, determined. Athena created a tapestry, depicting the twelve Gods and Goddesses, triumphal and royal, just and glorious, all-mighty and eternal. Amidst them, she portrayed herself in a contest with the God of the Sea, fighting over patronizing Attica. Her gift, the olive tree, his gift, a mare. The Goddess won, and thus was the outcome she expected from this contest as well. The Maiden wove a cloth with twenty-one scenes. Her elegant and slender fingers twirled the threads, creating figurines. Gods and Maidens. Perpetrator and Prey. And the tapestry was not just beautiful but also true, filled with the crimes of the Gods and their wretched victims. The Goddess was furious and envy ran through her, hot as a flame, and no Deity ever was a fair loser. So she hit the Maiden, repeatedly, until the victorious weaver had no resort but to hang herself. But Athena was having none of it because escaping was not something the immortal entities accepted of their playthings. So she untangled the girl and cursed the Maiden:
“Live on and hang, and all your children and descendants, until the end of time, will share your doom.” And with that, the Goddess transformed her into a spider. Was it pity or spite?
ZEUS - BULL EAGLE SWAN SNAKE SATYR SHEPHERD BETROTHED SHOWER FLAME.
WITH HIM - EUROPA ASTERIA LEDA PERSEPHONE ANTIOPE MNEMOSYNE AMPHITRYON DANAË AEGINA.
POSEIDON - HORSE RAM BULL BIRD DOLPHIN HUSBAND.
WITH HIM - DEMETER THEOPHANE CANACE MEDUSA MELANTHO IPHIMEDEIA.
APOLLO - HAWK SNAKE LION SHEPHERD.
WITH HIM - CORONIS DRYOPE KYRENE ISSA.
DIONYSUS - FALSE GRAPES.
WITH HIM - ERIGONE.
CRONUS - HORSE.
WITH HIM - PHILYRA.
weaving
˙suǝpıɐW oʍʇ-ʎʇuǝʍʇ ǝɹɐ ǝɹǝɥʇ puɐ ɯooɹ ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥ⊥ ˙pǝdɐɹ ƃuıǝq 'pǝʌıǝɔǝp ƃuıǝq suǝpıɐW pǝƃuoɹʍ ǝuo-ʎʇuǝʍʇ ɟo pu∀
˙spo⅁ ʎʇɥƃıɯʃɐ puɐ ssǝʃɥʇɐǝp ǝɥʇ ɟo sǝuǝɔs ǝuo-ʎʇuǝʍʇ ǝɹɐ ʇı uo puɐ ɥʇoʃɔ ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥ⊥ ˙ɥʇoʃɔ ɐ puɐ ɯooɹ ɐ sı ǝɹǝɥ⊥
What is not in the room and on the loom – but inherent, intervowen, intertwined, implied?
When Athena had come upon Poseidon ravishing her devoted, chaste priestess, she cast Medusa out of the temple and cursed her, and the Maiden became a snake-headed Monster to be feared and hunted and killed. One wronged Maiden of the twenty-one two.
Athena, the cruel Goddess among cruel Gods.
And Athena told the tale and said she transformed the Maiden into a spider, a monster, out of pity - a life saved, better than a life lost.
Yet, the spider saw with her eight eyes, and she told the truth with her eight legs, and whenever you see a web, look closely at what it will show you.