Sunday, December 2, 2007


And when tonight is done
I think I'll rest my tired feet
And I think, I am thinking too much
Or is this the sweet taste of defeat

As Eirene walked on the wooden board, her spangled sleeves caught the sun's stare and gleamed.When I peel off my skin do I terrify, or should I just swipe the smile off my face.... Sound make ridges,a sleepwalker awakens and she thinks he recites his lines to perfection

Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister,
And keep you in the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.

You said you wish to know me, inside out, without within, so why do I terrify now when I peel off my skin. I hear a voice say Be wary then; best safety lies in fear but what remedy to curiosity .

Eirene,Eirene don't you desecrate...I lift the branch and shrink under the weight. Someone get me out of here.. And she says-

Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven

And she is tempestuous yet calm, intense yet remote. She spins words like a juggler but her pretty talks are the empty wares of an illusionist. I have seen her dancing alone, spinning lightly with a lonely drummer boy for company. Then why does she recoil when I bend to hear the music of her footsteps.

Have I myself of my audience been most free, beautiful and grotesque like yonder Joshua tree

He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders
Of his affection to me.

Affection! pooh! you speak like a
green girl
Unsifted in such perilous circumstance.

Come hide me from tomorrow's stern glance, one taste of your fake romance and I would earn my degree.

Tender yourself more dearly
Too frail for the labor of love
But you gave in nearly...

Now I always had Lazarus's soul and I rose from the ashes too. I wailed for my demon lover and waited for angels to see me through. Ah, Ophelia thou art sleeping still and Look to't, I charge you: come your ways

Lady lies in the shallows with the lyre in her arms. She mutely watches as the colours drain from her sky and forms little puddles. But oh, how she likes a chiaroscuro. From the shallows weeds grow, and cover the sleeping child within.But did no one tell you that in a sleep of death what dreams may come

Hamlet, I grow weary,so weary
You pass me by like a stranger
You make love to my memory
Then how in my orisons all your sins be remember'd.

she hears
There's tricks i' the world; and hems, and beats her heart;
Spurns enviously at straws; speaks things in doubt,
That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing,
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move

Now I shall take my and bow farewell speeches please. Goodbyes are best made by not making them at all and though you shall be missed...Come, my
coach! Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies;
good night, good night.


The words etched in bold are the Bard's and have been carefully quoted from Hamlet, the first Shakespearean tragedy I read and could make some slight pretense of understanding. Before ADS and his Macbeth happened [ I say his Macbeth although he made it as much ours...a breathing reality rather than a fabled king from the gilded pages of academia]this text about the lovelorn lady and doomed prince fascinated me. And how.

An exercise in alternate narrative.


Noisy Autist said...

Your works need some serious attention from us rather than one or two casual reads to do justice to them.

Antigone said...

that is an honour too much.