“He who saw everything” is the beginning of someone else’s blog that I have borrowed just to carve out an entry into mine.
It's a blog written on a clay tablet, scribbled under a scorching sun, where letters melt and sway, soar and tremble, crawling back on spidery feet into a name: Gilgamesh.
Gilgamesh is a poem that bears the name of its uncomfortable hero, an oddly beastly fellow, whose tribulations and excessive acts bring about a story and the vision of an uncanny destiny.
More than the making of the narrative, it is the making of the hero's name itself that holds the poem together.
Try it for yourself: sound the hero's name: "Gil-ga-mesh".
Have a go at its hidden resonance, the black power inside its syllable; sense the preface of the realms Gilgamesh is destined to traverse, just by virtue of the melodic and invisible crown he wears - his unusual name.
So there, we have it: a hero is what his/her name allows him/her to be.
A hero's name is not only the herald of episodes that make the story move; rather it is the basis for the success or failure of the story itself. The story, can be argued, is secondary to the name.
Therefore, one can surmise that if one would like to write an immortal poem, continuous (or not) one would do well to judiciously choose the appropriate name for one's hero, one's poem, one's tablet, one blog.
So go ahead and play with syllables.
Chances are that out of an uncanny combination of consonants, randomly etched with vowels, a far-fetched name or even a pure and perfect poem will be born.
But wait...if only this assumption were true....