maybe i DID have neopronouns in ancient greece that is also 1930s new orleans and the rust belt whatzittooya /silly

its… weird, being sourced from such a circular narrative and trying to piece together a timeline. it’s like i can’t, like i’m not supposed to remember anything outside the story. i can remember learning the storm had taken eurydice, that she’d sold her soul to hades, a million ways around on a million different layers of symbolism. yet i can’t remember almost anything about my childhood. i know i grew up with mr. hermes, that he raised me when mama left, but when i try to recall specifics there’s almost nothing. i can’t even remember anything about mama. it’s like i popped into existence in that bar with a backstory and an unfinished song. and i can’t remember anything after i turned around, either. she disappeared back into the underworld and… i guess the story really does loop back around then. little exists before and nothing after, and i lose her a million times over. to a snake bite, to a contract… to my own insecurity. over and over again. as if it might turn out this time.

weird to be a demigod. im just some guy. i wait tables in this unnamed depression-era greek mythology speakeasy and write music that makes flowers grow on the side. just a regular guy

i dont actually remember who my father was: apollo or oeagrus. i don’t remember him at all, in fact, but a part of me wants to think it was apollo. i don’t think it’s that i’d rather be related to a god or something like that. i think it’s that it stings less to be abandoned by a god than by a man. gods abandon their children, their part-mortal children especially, all the time; they have more important matters to attend to. the idea of being abandoned by a man feels more… personal. i don’t know.

me posting about calliope and putting it in main tags: im dropping hints that i miss my mom

(tag as fictive please!)

i’m sorry, my love. i’m sorry.