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Cretan Zeus
Jun. 16th, 2023 01:27 pmTalking about leadership and why R is good at it while I really don’t resonate with it at all. Sometimes I feel I should be more into structures, that I should practice being in charge more.
‘You don’t like being told what to do,’ said R, ‘and you don’t like telling other people what to do.’
It’s true. I really don’t like either of these things. Too much responsibility. Been re-reading the legend of Zeus, born on the island to avoid being eaten by his dad, himself the gelder of cannibalistic Ouranos. Zeus is basically Captain Kirk; he wins battles, has affairs, doesn’t take things too seriously. But before things got easy, he defeated Kronos and rescued all his previously devoured siblings right out of the old man’s belly. I have tried to write three poems since getting here, and none of them are any good, one of them actively too terrible to rescue. He was a kind of thread through them all, but I cannot tie him to last night’s clouds rolling in, the private yacht in dock with its Grand Cayman flag, the town communists chanting unseen after their march as the storm gathered then failed to materialise.
I can’t see him.
But I dreamed of a strange man last night, a big muscled fellow with an almost beard, a definite tan and long-ish hair. He was familiar, though he isn’t now, telling me that things were not ‘the same’ between him and his wife, acting as though he and I were an expected item a long time ago.
And now I remember a part of my dream when I was standing on the roof here to see the night sky utterly covered in stars. It feels so real I wonder if I woke out of sleepwalking then sank into sleep again. Truly. I don’t know.
‘You don’t like being told what to do,’ said R, ‘and you don’t like telling other people what to do.’
It’s true. I really don’t like either of these things. Too much responsibility. Been re-reading the legend of Zeus, born on the island to avoid being eaten by his dad, himself the gelder of cannibalistic Ouranos. Zeus is basically Captain Kirk; he wins battles, has affairs, doesn’t take things too seriously. But before things got easy, he defeated Kronos and rescued all his previously devoured siblings right out of the old man’s belly. I have tried to write three poems since getting here, and none of them are any good, one of them actively too terrible to rescue. He was a kind of thread through them all, but I cannot tie him to last night’s clouds rolling in, the private yacht in dock with its Grand Cayman flag, the town communists chanting unseen after their march as the storm gathered then failed to materialise.
I can’t see him.
But I dreamed of a strange man last night, a big muscled fellow with an almost beard, a definite tan and long-ish hair. He was familiar, though he isn’t now, telling me that things were not ‘the same’ between him and his wife, acting as though he and I were an expected item a long time ago.
And now I remember a part of my dream when I was standing on the roof here to see the night sky utterly covered in stars. It feels so real I wonder if I woke out of sleepwalking then sank into sleep again. Truly. I don’t know.
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