Of course this is a great indignity. No cheeks to pinch or rouge – or even a jaw to drop in surprise. Lady Worm, who was once a lady, is now not just a skull – but a mazzard, which is an even more undignified word than skull.
And to be knocked about it with a spade? The horror! The horror!
The only word that retains any dignity is sexton – which is usually the steward for sacred objects – things like relics and sacred bones – and here, the sexton bats a skull around with a shovel. The gravedigger is elevated to a holy position and Lady Worm is laid lower than she ever imagined possible.
Author: erainbowd
And now my Lady Worm’s.
Every lady at the ball was jealous of Lady Worm. “How does she stay so long and lean?” asked Lady Mole.
“And so graceful?” asked Lady Chicken.
“Well,” said Lady Badger, “when you don’t have limbs, you never have to worry about where you put them.”
“And to do so much! She seems to be able to be in so many places at once!” exclaimed Lady Mule. “What does she do, clone herself?”
“Cut herself in half and send her one part to the flower show while the other picks up her daughter from tennis camp?” asked Lady Mantis.
This sent all the ladies to murmuring and then Lady Worm passed by in her evening dress and they all got quiet, then stepped all over themselves to greet her.
Why, e’en so.
While I’m here in Vancouver, I decided I wanted to rent a guitar. I didn’t want my callouses to disappear, nor did I want to lose the facility that has taken me many months to build back up.
Guitar stores are generally not made for women. They are usually staffed by men who are particularly invested in the guitar as part of their masculinity. This does not make them inclined to facilitate a woman getting her hands on a guitar.
And while the fella at this music shop was perfectly acceptable in his customer service, I did notice that the entire staff at the warehouse size music shop was male.
So even without the active sexist atmosphere of a guitar store, it remains ever thus.
Ay, my lord.
Has some scholar made a study of how often Horatio says yes to Hamlet? He affirms him in so many ways, so many times. It is his essential role in this play – to just affirm and keep Hamlet from just talking to himself all the time.
Horatio is so much Hamlet’s reflection – it might be possible to do a production wherein Horatio is just Hamlet’s alter-ego – another side of himself that just listens to him. The only scenes that would be trouble for are the two scenes that Horatio is in without Hamlet – the opening and the one where he receives the letters. Every other time, he could just as easily be in Hamlet’s imagination.
Might it not?
Humans are so funny. We so crave affirmation from one another for our thoughts. Perhaps we choose our friends by how much they will affirm us.
Those who refuse to affirm our ideas are not likely to affirm our humanity.
My friends are largely likely to agree in the affirmative if I ask them a question like this. And Horatio does this for Hamlet in so many ways.
This might be my lord such-a-one, that praised my lord such-a-one’s horse, when he meant to beg it.
My lord such-a-one met my lord whatchamacallit at a party thrown by lord so-and-so. They all had animated conversations about this and that and as the night drew to a close, they all passed through the what’s-it-called to get to the stables. Lord such-a-one became quite envious of the other’s horse and conceived of a plan to ask him for it. This scheme began with some lavish praise of the animal and he hoped it would end with the reins in his own hands.
How dost thou, good lord?
I am very curious about what it might do to me to be spoken to this way on a regular basis. Like – would being called “good lord” somehow increase my sense of potency in the world? I suspect it would.
Or of a courtier which could say “Good morrow, sweet lord!”
The use of the word “sweet” here makes me wonder if Hamlet is thinking of some courtier in particular. It also makes me wonder about Hamlet’s childhood and his relationships with such people.
It must be so weird to be a prince. There must be some confusion around what is genuine affection from adults and what is solicitousness for the royal child. Did baby Hamlet feel the “sweet” from a courtier? Did it make him favor one over the other? Do courtiers sometimes slip child princes little bits of candy or sweets to curry future favor from a future king?
An emotionally intelligent child will likely learn to discern such differences but I imagine some of them never work it out.
It might, my lord.
My friend and I were talking about the enneagram recently and so it’s on my mind. I used to think about it all the time but I’ve shaken off a lot of the shackles of my type so I don’t have to think of it much. But we were talking about it and, you know, I’m a nine and I was just thinking how much Horatio reminds me of myself in some ways and how that means that I have very little interest in playing him and how that made me realize that he is also probably a nine. This line makes me think so because I try to be supportive in precisely the same way.
And there is a way that on my worst days, I feel a little bit like a cipher, the way I can sometimes feel like Horatio is – or just a 9, disappearing into Hamlet.
One that would circumvent God, might it not?
Politicians do indeed seem to be trying like hell to circumvent God. Especially lately. And when I say “God,” I mean an accountability for one’s moral choices. I mean – the same men who want to keep women in the house to avoid getting raped, turn the other way when confronted with a rapist who shares their political position.
The way they can casually eliminate the means of survival of millions of people without a thought. This suggests to me that they think they can get around the rules of God. It’s shocking – especially in religious people.
The Hamlet Project 