Gebo

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.

 

 


6 comments

  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. ^_^

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  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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