At the end of the day all there remains is nostalgia, that sad, bitter thing. All that remains of dreams is nostalgia, the ash of it all. And what are we to do who imagine we dream by day with open eyes?
I wrote about Prometheus this morning, an essay for a client, but now I’ve come to realize what the image of the vulture or eagle pecking at his heart for eternity was about. You see the Greeks, whoever they were, they knew these things. Prometheus was the dreamer, amongst the Titans, he was a dreamer by day hence he stole what he stole from the gods. But dreams soon enough become nostalgia, the moment of gifting when recalled later is the moment of loss.
At some far end of the story, there’s Hercules the Redeemer, but my sadness has not reached that point in the tale yet.