Missing Gilgamesh

What is this? A writing that isn’t sappy and teenager in its emotional immaturity? Alas, I have found something to write about aside from my emotional stunting. But don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be back at it by tomorrow.

I saw a friend asking about inspiration. I commented, too, of course. I had something similar in the past couple weeks as well, and it may have been her, in which case I’m wasting my breath on her. But still, she deserves a name drop. Moving on.

I suggested to her finding inspiration in the classics. Not Moby Dick, or anything so recent, but I’m talking mythology. And in doing so, I recalled Gilgamesh. Who doesn’t love Gilgamesh with his rippling body and wildly attractive side kick Enkidu? Though Enkidu did receive some sort of STD from a prostitute. This could be a deal breaker. I digress.

After the suggestion of classics, I had a yearning to read one of my favorite stories and realized, in all honesty, I’ve forgotten much of it. This is a blessing and curse of my memory. On the one hand, I forget things easily and the inspiration isn’t easily drawn upon at whim. On the other, if I give anything enough time, it regains all its charm and magic.

In my head, this was a far more impressive post. Take it as you will. If you’ve learned anything here, you should read Gilgamesh because Enkidu sleeps with a prostitute and gets an STD, and that’s why the animals don’t like him anymore. So if you want to bring Snow White low, give her herpes.

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