Galina received a package today from an Etsy artisan; included was a lovely hand-written note on a page torn from a book. The book was a collection of the plays of Shakespeare; the leaf is page 39, scene II of Hamlet. Here is what I could make out:

Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour.
Go to your rest; at night we’ll feast together.
Most welcome home!
Exeunt Ambassadors.

[obscured by writing]

Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
I will be brief: your noble son is mad:
Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,
What is’t but to be nothing else but mad?

[obscured by more writing]

Yeah, that seems fairly significant.

Especially since I had planned to do a poetic exploration of Hamlet as a Bacchic figure, traceable back through the centuries (and a variety of forms) to the Old Icelandic Amlóði, whom some regard as a πρόσωπον of Óðr but scrapped it as too esoteric. A judgment I should perhaps reconsider. 

Well, fuck. Looks like my writer’s block just broke.

I’ve already got a playlist going.

Edited to add: I was going to include a selfie posed with the note, but as I was shuffling through the pics to find the least doofiest option I noticed my golden Black Sun necklace I’ve been wearing all evening just — disappeared. In one photo it’s there, in the next it’s not. I was called away between shots but I just retraced my steps, double checking all the rooms and the hallway and even the bathroom in the master bedroom; and the thing is nowhere to be found. Poof! Gone! Snatched by the gold-hungry Fairies in trade for poetic frenzy, evidently. (I mean, I haven’t divined so I can’t be certain but Fairies is the most rational explanation, all things considered.) Oh, we are off to a very good start – though I may wait til Walpurgisnacht to properly begin the book.




  1. Maybe Hermes snatched your necklace for some giggles. He has been known to take things and then put them back practically underneath your nose. ^_^


  2. Yeah, that stuff about fossil fuel… not sure I get where that’s coming from. But the notion of Shakespeare knowing Bruno’s work is tantalizing.


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