As salt sets its seal on your silky skin
I have just been informed that Christopher Nolan, not content to have performed the same indispensable service for the concept of nuclear physics, is now generating discourse about the Odyssey, which I am sure will go over in a respectful and informed fashion on our current internet where every other bright spark has some expert opinion unsullied by such petty considerations as reasonably accurate data that wasn't sicked back up to them by unexamined reception or extractive AI. My contribution to this charybditic scrum is that the Odyssey has too many female characters for me to trust him with it, even before we get to more general reservations about the alienness of the ancient world and its gods who are not reducible to one-stop abstractions or human psychologies writ sky-size. I return to lying on a couch, this time with strange tales of the sea.

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*shudders in Graduate School, bitter as arsenic and slow-acting as lead*
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You also neither compose nor process narrative in a linear fashion, so there has to be some other emotional or intellectual element in the story to engage you, or, anyone who has ever been exposed to Sondheim's Merrily We Roll Along has already been punched in the heart by time.
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At least, my dear friend, no one can say we chased the money at the expense of our fondest interpersonal and creative ties.
(If anyone would like to save me chasing it now I've got the game leg, they are welcome to apply.)