D “The question of who or what your father is, is
utterly irrelevant. You are my son, that’s all
you need to know. I’ve worked hard to make you
a man, the right man. Come now, then – let it be.”
P “Am I the son the Zeus? Is this true? I feel it
in my heat. Tell me. Don’t lie to me. Not again.”
D “What a question. Are you asking for Truth and
Beauty? Are you the son of Zeus? What nonsense.”
D “If you insist. I will tell you the truth. Then
don’t come whining to me with feelings of discomfort.
You asked for it… so here is the true truth: it was
a shower of gold that took me in my sleep, and
delivered a dream. I was happy to be ravished so,
I did not notice a thing. I woke up and I was pregnant
with you. Your father has always had a thing for
metamorphosis. He is the God of Gods. Enough.”
“This is really demeaning – Perseus. At your age,
asking awkward questions. Bring me the head of
this ugly she-monster that you were meant to kill
a long time ago. She seduced Poiseidon and got
what was coming. Be quick about it. That is the
price for what you asked me. I have worked hard
to get you to where you are. You were supposed to
be a hero. This is the end of this conversation.”
Exit Danae. P “Now I am confused. I love to kill.
It is my skill. I am known around the world for
it. By she is my love. My mother is such a hag.
I must consult with my newly acquired father. He
will know what to do. He is God.” Enter Zeus.
Z “After so long, we are reunited again, my son.
What is your name again? Fetch me a glass, we
can drink to this. But I must rest. Chasing
pussy is exhausting. I love a good vagina.
But it never learns. You must be one of my
bastards. Which one was your mother? I am
tired. Where’s my water? I don’t see much
of me in you. Stand upright. Come here.
Don’t stoop. Do you love chariot-races?
What wouldn’t I give for one of those new
Helios chariots. Their sun is so bright and
shiny. My lightning bolts would look good
on one. So, tell me, which thunder model
do you prefer?” P “I am really not sure”
Z “You’re not my son, then. You spent far
too much time with women, I guess. What
do you believe in? Feminism and all that
crap? Goddamit. When am I ever going to
have a son? There’s nothing in you of me.”
Z “You’re a puppet in her lascivious dreams.
Where are you from? Did you come from the
mountains or the sea? Do you have memory of
anything? Don’t you see that you are lost?”
P “I am not lost, nor am I found. You can
answer some of your questions yourself. Am
I your son or not? Can you give me a straight
answer? I cannot search for truth any longer.”
Z “So you think you came from Zeus’s mighty
cock? What have you got to prove it? One look
at you, and I understand you’re a zero, not
a hero. You have been trained in unworthy
skills. You don’t have that spunk, proper of
a God. Be gone, now. You are nothing but a
freak. I love you not. You are not my son.
I refused to endorse any cum left-overs. Ah!”
So Cicciotta intervenes, because it is slightly
embarassing to have so many Griffinese ships
streaming out of the black hole, and to the
sound of Philip Glass, there must be a Dalai
Lama talking about mani or money somewhere.
Tierra Madre has gone to sleep. In her dream,
Desert Storm and the Spartan have started
copulating. Let me draw a picture. This is
What we call a exor-narcissistic cosmic fuck.
The Spartan attacks, Desert Storm recoils.
“Thou unravished bride of quietness…”
The Spartan says (with the coolness of a
warrior on the shore of a long-lost time)
he says: “I shall be cumming all over this
black hole. I do as Spartans do. I win battles.
Come and get some. Come and get our weapons.”