It is such a delightfully macabre image – someone, somewhere must have animated it. Is there not, somewhere, someone throwing a skull down a lane into a series of tibia and femurs? A gif? A short film? A morbid fantasia?
I mean, in our goth friendly age, oughtn’t there be such a thing?

Here now is a fine example of a line that might be stretched and pulled to fit a variety of lens.
Marxists, for example, might make much of this revolution.
It’s a line that could be used for any revolution.
We could use it now, in fact. I do feel as though I’m getting to see a revolution of women right before my very eyes. It is a trick to see it. And a kick.

However – I’m almost certain that this is not the sort of revolution Hamlet means. I mean, he’s talking about the ironic circle of life. The revolution is a turning of the globe, a turning of life, the way a woman who might have knocked peasants upon the head for fun is now unceremoniously knocked about the head by a gravedigger.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.