The Killing Moon

So many things have been happening recently, that you would have thought some majestic epiphany would have been considerate enough to strike me, thus arming me with an inspired and highly wise ramble of diction to supply my loyal fanbase with. But alas, Fate, it seems, has deserted me. No doubt for a younger, richer model.

Strange occurrences seem to be rife right now. Other than the usual synaptic flashes, that is. Last night, I went to bed tired, only to read the whole of Jeanette Winterson's Weight, her rendition of the Atlas / Hercules myth (pretty masterful, I must admit, even if she is a feminist.) If you would like to know the story, and it is worth knowing, follow the white rabbit... (which is in fact a snowshoe hare)

There were these dudes, you see, in Greek mythology, called the Titans. They were the gods before the Olympian gods (Zeus, Hera, Aphrodite, Hermes, etc..) usurped them and cast them into Tartarus, a hellish pit. Mr. John Keats wrote a few pleasant verses about one of them - Hyperion. He was the sun god before Apollo took his place, the son of a bitch (follow the Keats link on the Revolving Bookshelf). One of these Titans was called Iapetus. Iapetus, so we are told, gave birth to Atlas, Prometheus, Epimetheus and Menoetius. Having fought the gods in the Olympian vs. Titans war, they weren't going to be let off the hook lightly. To cut long stories short:

Atlas' home, Atlantis (yes, the very same), was destroyed and he was forced by Zeus to carry the weight of the universe, bearing it on his shoulders.

Prometheus fought on the side of the Olympians, strangely enough. However, he was fool enough to steal the secret of fire from them, and give it to men, who subsequently abused the gift. Zeus decreed that he should be staked out on Mount Caucasus, and that an eagle (Ethon) should peck out his liver every day, as it regenerated over night. Nice.

Epimetheus got off quite lightly really. Zeus fashioned for him a wife named Pandora out of clay, quite the babe, apparently. He ignored his brother Prometheus' advice about not accepting gifts from the gods, and married her. She had been given a box by Hermes, which she was instructed to never open (split infinitive, I am fully aware). However, curiosity won over, and she opened it, thus releasing all sorts of plagues, pestilences and moral decline into the human world. That's women I guess.

Menoetius. This homie was rude to the big daddy (Zeus), who proceeded to strike him with a lightning bolt on Mount Triphyle. In some accounts he is simply cast into everlasting torture in Tartarus.

Not the sort of people you'd want round for tea and squashed-fly biscuits. Hope all you guys (the numerous crowd, ahem, who actually read this tripe) are in the middle of pleasant, blessed and spontaneous lives at the moment. Will talk soon, no doubt...

KTF

Readed: Anne Rice - Tale of the Body Thief, Gaston Leroux - Phantom of the Opera

Listening: From First to Last - Dear Diary, My Teen Angst Has A Body Count; Johnny Cash; NOFX - Wolves in Wolves Clothing

The Lowest Form

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So Long Sweet Summer

Same Ship, Different Dane

Put the poison pill to your mouth,
And we will swallow all that we can,
Until the fading lines of sentiment
Are all that keep us from blacking out completely.

Read my head
And let's step outside
Scare up from the grave
Those revenants
No-one could ever save.

Solemn walk
Let's take it up in the holidays,
With all those lazy days,
All those surface glitter days
Where we can do nothing at all
But think of someone else...

But to the head?
Ever thinking Simon finds it hard to decipher
The key written on the cave mouth,
Though the door is only a dragon's breath away.
The fridge hidden, but the jewels safely out in the open.
So we decide to stay,
And guide the fast ship towards the plains.
Ever needed more token?
No, but it goes fast enough.
For a child on a zebra crossing, in any case.
Waves go round,
Capsizing,
But holding onto the anchor
In the vain hope that this is the one thing that will remain afloat
In a sea of fools.

However the bedding in the belly of the storm
Was sub-standard.
We rode away
until another week.

(c) 06

Recommending: Nickel Creek - Doubting Thomas ;
Seth Lakeman - The Storm;
The Shins - A Call to Apathy.

Duet on Iberville Street

The man in black leather

Buying a rat to feed his python

Does not dwell on particulars.

Any rat will do.

While walking back from the pet store

I see a man in a hotel garage

Carving a swan in a block of ice

With a chain saw

- Stan Rice (Fear Itself, 1997)