“Orpheus and the Nympho Groupies,” by Charles Jalabert
As of this past Saturday it’s been six months since Karen died. Longtime followers know that Stupefying Stories has at heart always been The Bruce & Karen Show (ably assisted by an ever-changing supporting staff of talented volunteers—THANK YOU!), and that over the past twelve years the fortunes of Stupefying Stories have risen and fallen in tight conjunction with the steps along the path of Karen’s cancer journey.
I could write more about this, and in the past have, but after six months I’m becoming more mindful than ever of the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. For those whose education was sorely lacking in classical Greek mythology, Orpheus was a bard, poet, and the hottest lead lyre-player on the whole Peloponessian circuit, whose music could charm all living things and even the very rocks themselves. Orpheus had many adventures, and he appears as a supporting character in several other myths, but his most famous story is the one of how, after his beloved wife Eurydice died an untimely death, Orpheus descended into the underworld, to charm Hades himself and bring Eurydice back to the land of the living.
“Orpheus and Eurydice Dine and Dash,” by Giuseppe Cesari
Except that as is the case in all deals with both Hades and lawyers, there was a catch, a performance clause if you will, and at the last second Orpheus failed to dot the last “i” and cross the last “t”, and Eurydice was snatched away from him forever.
“Whoops! Oh shit!” by Christian Gottlieb Kratzenstein
That’s the story everyone knows. It’s been the subject of an enormous amount of sculpture, visual art, and a seemingly endless list of operas. (74 by my count; I may have missed a few.) What most people don’t seem to know, though, is how the story of Orpheus ends, and it ends thusly: after failing to bring Eurydice back to the land of the living, Orpheus attempts to go back to his previous life as a poet, bard, etc., etc., but the Maenads grow weary of listening to him sing sad songs about his lost wife, and when he refuses to resume being the cheerful and always entertaining person he used to be, they kill him and tear his body to pieces. The End.
“Orpheus and the Music Critics,” uncredited
As with all myths and legends, there are many variations and embellishments on the core story. In one version that’s frequently overlooked, after he fails to bring Eurydice back from the underworld, Orpheus takes a vow that he will never again love another woman, and so spends the rest of his life loving only good-looking young boys. By way of contrast, in Plato’s commentary on the story he concludes that it’s not actually a tale of romance, but rather one of shameful cowardice, because Orpheus lacks the courage to kill himself and join Eurydice in the afterlife. From this we can conclude that while Plato may have been a philosophical genius, as a friend, he would have been a total dick.
We might also conclude that the tale of Orpheus has no relevance to the modern world—
Or, that it needs to be re-set in modern-day San Francisco and turned into a stage musical comedy, with Eurydice played by a drag queen, Orpheus as a pansexual man, and a big closing all-the-cast-onstage singing and dancing production number that turns into an orgy with maenads, satyrs, and bathhouse chorus boys galore! I’m thinking this is at least National Endowment for the Arts grant material, if not a production co-funded by the Ford Foundation and PBS viewers nationwide! Guaranteed Tony Award winner! Bidding war for the movie rights! It’ll be bigger than Cats!
Excuse me. Moving right along…
The purpose of this post then is to serve notice. After six months of what wondering he was going to do with the rest of his life, Bruce Orpheus has decided to STFU about his personal issues, put a new set of strings on his lyre, turn the amp up to 11, and jump back into the business, Doc Martens first. It’s going to take the rest of this month to get this web site beaten back into proper shape, but we’re going to be publishing a lot more fiction, and a lot less other stuff.
Be forewarned, though, that Karen was a moderating influence. When you get the unfiltered me, you get… Well, as one writer described me recently, “[…] really, I’ve seen more empathy in a cat.”
Meow.
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