O that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d
His canon ’gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
- Hamlet, Shakey

Tightness twixt the eyes and that chilling quiet of an evening. Hamlet is haunting and somehow as inexplicably mesmerizing as the last time I read it four years ago. Anis Mojgani and bright skies and aching stares and gravel underfoot. I'm dying to go to the Portland Poetry Slam at Backspace, but so tired - limbs like liquid - and so all of you, if Anis will indeed be there, go for me.

woodcuts from here

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