by Scott Creighton
You do not mock the gods, the masters of the universe, without paying a steep price. Prometheus learned this chained to a rock having his liver torn out every day by the talons of an eagle. I have learned this, chained to an Eagle Talon (a.k.a. Mitsubishi Eclipse) having my heart ripped out by the damn thing on an increasingly regular basis.
I first started posting the Eclipseus Bound series on June 1 of last year when the darned Eclipse decided to rid itself of it’s own timing belt. That first episode was an epic battle and like the Lord of the Rings movies, it only got worse as the episodes continued.
On June 18th, after struggling mightily for the very soul of mankind and the avoidance of public transportation, I prevailed and laughed in the face of the gods for I had bested them as the new Belt of Timing hummed peacefully and harmonically in the heart of my mighty 98 hp steed.
However, my joy, my independence and my freedom were short lived things (as they often are for those who dare challenge the gods) when two months later on Aug. 20th, I learned the hard way about a thing called a “head gasket”
Believe it or not, both of those curses were revisited upon me yesterday in the course of about 9 hours and I came to a greater understanding of the world which we share.
I discovered they call it the “head” gasket because it is the boss of ALL gaskets and when you seek to replace it, like President Peace Prize does when he “regime changes” some little country somewhere via his “soft power” (read as “terrorists” and NATO “humanitarian bombing campaigns”), you must replace all of them. We could call it the Gadhafi, the Assad or the Morsi gasket if you like.
On Aug 27th of that same year, with my swollen leg and messed up lungs, I prevailed. The great Eclipeus Bound modern day epic narrative was over and Hypnotoad was pleased.
Prometheus is the Patron Saint of All “Conspiracy Theorists”
You see, Prometheus didn’t actually steal fire from the Gods in order to keep man warm in the evening as he sat around watching TV on his rock sofa like the Flintstones. He stole the fire of creativity from the god of wisdom when tasked to distribute natural instincts to the various creations of the gods. It was this that ultimately set us apart, made us what we are. And it was for this, making man in the image of the gods themselves, capable of reason and vision, that ultimately cursed him. (from Wiki’s Prometheus and Plato section)
As some of you know, the poor little Eclipse has been struggling as of late but our hero, Eclipseus, has been exercising the due diligence of the impoverished and pecking back the Eagle’s talons one part at a time.
All seemed well for a brief period but then, as it often does, tragedy struck suddenly and without warning.
As if to mock the great tragic hero, the Talon released a little nut holding tight a tensioner pulley on that self-same timing belt throwing Eclipeus’ world into peril once again.
The all-to-familiar tow truck, the hidden language of the curses and the requisite bleeding of the knuckles followed. This was yesterday and having remembered all the lessons of that first epic battle, Eclipseus prevailed, once again, this time in record time, only a day for a complete timing belt redux.
Oh how Eclipeus then mocked the gods themselves and reveled in his victory.
It was too be very short-lived.
The gods seem to have a sense of humor, don’t they? A bitter, dark sense of humor indeed.
For after only one block of test drive, poor Eclipeus noticed a speedy heating of the “over” type. He was advised to “add water” and thus he figured the next problem was solved.
For that water did thusly make it’s way into something called the “oil pan” in a most hasty fashion. Minutes is all it took for the glow of victory to turn into the depths of despair.
In one day, yesterday, the timing belt was reset and the “head” gasket decided to take a powder once again.
At some point it had to occur to Prometheus that if he simply refused to grow back his liver one night, the great Eagle of torment would have nothing to peck out, thus cheating him of his satisfaction. This, I consider to be a logical and sensible solution to Prometheus’ torment.
However… where’s the fun in that?
After all, as the great cliche of our times goes, it’s not how many times you get knocked down but rather how many times you rise back up that defines us all. Not as clever or catchy as Plato or Aeschylus I know ( Aeschylus is the author of Prometheus Bound as well as The Oresteia trilogy (which is what this thing is turning into)) but it works.
So, you can all expect the third (and hopefully, final) entry into the Eclipseus Bound series to be published in the next few days as our hero Eclipseus rebuilds his oil saturated liver in that eternal struggle of man vs the punitive nature of the gods.
Upon discovery of the chocolate milk in his engine passing for oil yesterday, Eclipeus, distraught and despairing, set off on a trek. It wasn’t an epic journey. Just around the block actually where he found himself having a beer and playing a game of pool to ease his mind of the tragedy that had befallen him.
It was there that of the 3 other people at that location that he learned, one had a car overheating which he could ill afford to have fixed and must fix himself so his pregnant wife wouldn’t have to ride the horrible bus like he did back and forth to work… and another, a religious man and pool hustler, who had just been cheated out of a week’s pay for hard labor, yet his countenance was one of inner joy.
Eclipeus was humbled and shamed by his arrogance. This is the struggle of us all and if it is Eclipseus’ fate to bear the burden of his choices, then he does so, or should, with pride for he joins a contingent of the best of us, out there everyday doing what we can to get by.
The gods’ wrath is not exclusively his too bear.
Besides, he won 3 games out of 6 from a religious guy with his own stick. And that ain’t bad. Perhaps even… a sign. Hopefully not an M. Night Shyamalan sign, but a sign non-the-less.
Just keep pecking away and you might just break even.
The moral of the story is: fuck the gods, keep your head up, don’t bust up a cluster of your own balls when playing a shark if they hide one of his and don’t take any of it too seriously.
After all, it’s just a ride.