Starting cold isn’t hard on just engines; it doesn’t seem to be doing a lot for my brain, either. So much for theory…. back to the drawing board…. Maybe if I look under here… no, nothing. There’s nothing lying about I can use, and nothing fictional or philosophical is formulating, that I can see. This could prove to be a frustrating experience, if I can’t come up with something pretty soon; the natives are restless, and I may have to leave mid-Pearl. Hmm, let’s see what happens when I do this….You may want to cover your ears….
Well, that wasn’t so bad, now, was it? I had assumed that there would be more of a fuss forthcoming, but that was quite restrained, all in all. One would think that it would be a bit more of a struggle to empty one’s own mental pockets, but it went very smoothly, if not exactly fruitfully. Perhaps that explains the lack of interest in fighting for what was found, as it wasn’t much, to be sure. In fact, nothing was found, and that is a bit unsettling, as I had no idea I was so short on material…. not even an old cliche to examine. Pretty sad….
Is this schizoid paranoia or just existential blues? — Smart Bee
I think perhaps I’d best just dive in and begin the search for pearls in Smart Bee; it looks like that is my last, best hope for this morning’s salvation. We can only hope at this point…. shall we Pearl?…..
“To be, or not to be: that is the question: whether ‘t is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them? To die: to sleep: No more; and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to,–‘t is a consummation devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep; to sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there ‘s the rub: for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause: there ‘s the respect that makes calamity of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, the pangs of despised love, the law’s delay, the insolence of office and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes, when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin? who would fardels to grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of something after death, the undiscover’d country from whose bourn no traveller returns, puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.” — William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet — Act iii, Sc. 1
This passage is probably the most quoted paragraph in history, generally trotted out when some ambitious actor wants to impress a director with his memory for script, or else when some English professor is trying to impress some cute undergraduate. This morning I took the time to apply my own doubt to my theory about Shakespeare (which, as I’ve shown previously, is solidly negative….), by reading the above passage with an open mind…. Or, as open as I can get it, given my already formed opinion of his work….
I found this to be, as Will’s work often is, rather obscure in its meaning. Sure, it flows nicely, and the way he structures his phrases is certainly lyrical sounding when spoken aloud. But, to me, the difficulty in following the thread of thought that the soliloquy sews detracts from that lyrical quality, by forcing the observer to work too hard at understanding the meaning of the words…. To me, this is a flaw in a play; it deflects one from being entertained by making the audience work at comprehending the actor’s lines….
Second, I found this obscurity to also take away from the power of what otherwise might be a stirring speech. Instead, it merely comes off as depressive, and whiny. “For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,” sounds a bit like a complaint to me, and is less than attractive in a Prince, to be sure…..
I guess the English have always enjoyed a bit of crazy in their princes and kings, eh what?…. I suppose in that sense, Will nailed Hamlet’s character on the head…. but, that doesn’t mean I have to like it…. and I don’t…. To my mind, even after this examination, Shakespeare remains the most over-rated author of all time…. And as further proof that even he knew it, from the same play…
“T’is as easy as lying.” — William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Hamlet — Act iii, Sc. 2
Nice to see the formalities being observed…. educating new recruits is an important detail….
(Photo found on Facebook…)
“By doubting we come at truth.” — Cicero
Warm eyes, wet lips
Gently touch my finger tips
Soft sighs, silky hair
Longing for me to touch her there
Her begging eyes
Her whimpering cries
Urgent needs of one so sweet
Bring me quickly to my feet
The night is warm, there is no doubt
It’s my turn to take the dog out.
— Smart Bee
“All true knowledge contradicts common sense.” — Smart Bee
This is an old school pearl, after a fashion. Raise your hand if you get the point…. well, okay, don’t. But, if you did, well, you get it, right? Right. So, I don’t have to write a thousand words here to try to tell you, which is probably fortunate for both of us.
There is a point, you know, but, it’s not one that bears any great significance in real terms; I’m just feeling a bit lazy today, and it’s easier than spending another half-hour chasing down something about which to rant. I’ll just leave you with this thought…..
“The storm starts when drops start dropping. When the drops stop dropping then the storm starts stopping.” — Dr Suess
I can only wish there was a way to get rich on the concept of unpredictability…. Well, there probably is, but I haven’t heard of such, precisely, though there are numerous theories of which I’ve read. If nothing else, it might help me organize my own existence in such a way as to take advantage of the rapidity with which the Universe presents its manifestations of mutability. Since I don’t know of any such process, I’ll have to settle for the ability to create a paragraph like this, totally meaningless in relation to the task at hand, other than to reflect the confusion and lack of cohesive thought currently on display here…. which makes it accurate, if nothing else…
That being said, to little purpose, I will draw this to a close, thus giving the universe the opportunity to heave its normal sigh of relief, and get on with the day…. Y’all take care out there, and May the Metaphorse be with you….
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
I just sits.