M “I cannot drink this water, though. I loiter
on the steps and pray.” K “Mother, in your
honour, this epic has been written in byte code.”
O ” As we tether toward the event horizon, un
certainty is greater. Hesperos calls us to dinner.
E “Strange parallelisms, the cult of Chtlhu – what
happens next? ‘What mad pursuit? What struggle to
escape?’ ” Exeunt the lot of ’em – Enter golden Danae
Perseus sits brooding under the light of a tree bulb,
whose roots clutch the corpse of a sculptor, on
a verdant slope of Mount Maenalus, in Arcadia.
D “The mountains yonder call you to great deeds,
my darling son. You were born to slay evil serpent
girls, make them your trophies – ride towards the
moon, deliver a killing blow to the ugliness in the
oceans, show the white whale its tomb and be king.”
“And so, why are you here? Paralyzed under a tree?
Unable to fulfill your destiny? You are my son, not
some beggar in the street. What pretty whore has
swallowed your balls, now, darling son? Speak, now.”
P “Mother. I must confess. Many years have passed.
I did not kill Medusa. I loved her since, for what
she is.” M “Nonsense. Look at all the signs of high
history. The paintings, the tales about you. You are”
“the hero that delivered us from Athena’s monster.
Have you failed to perform your duty? Have you
challenged your destiny? No-one would commit such
hubris. Come now, tell me the truth. My diary
does not lie. And in the diary, I wrote here –
look – that you did slay the dragon – beg pardon –
the Gorgon. You bagged the head in the wallet and
boom! You’ve been bandying it about ever since.”
“Are you drunk? Or stoned? Now speak or I will be
cross. And then you shall have to cut my head to
shut me up. What nonsense, you are saying. I can’t
believe my ears. You are the hero, the son of Danae.”
P “Mother. Who is my father? Tell me truly, I have
lost hope, I am confused. I have dreams. I am so
angry, and yet I do not know the reason. I think I
am mad. You once told me that my father was a God.”
“And then you said that I did not have a father. And
then, another time, you said that – that fish-monger
that you slept with for a few years was my father.
This troubles me. It has something to do with my
identity. I think I do not know who I am anymore.
And I realized that I cannot love a woman because
I do not have a core, or a heart, or a soul, or an
identity. Curse you, mother, for lying to me. Now…”