“Look like th’innocent flower, But be the serpent under’t” or “Come you spirits, That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here.”

Out Of All Shakespearean Female Characters

This Cowboy Finds Lady Macbeth

The Most Captivating

The Most Fascinating

The Most Stimulating

The Most Everlasting

Francesca Annis, The Best Lady Macbeth

Ever! and Forever!

***

Blond Ambition:

***

“Take The Dagger”

She Didn’t Verbalize That. She Didn’t Have To

Just Look Into Her Eyes. Could You Say ‘No?”

I Know I couldn’t.

***

MACBETH

     My dearest love,

Duncan comes here tonight.

LADY MACBETH

     And when goes hence?

MACBETH

Tomorrow, as he purposes.

LADY MACBETH

     O, never

Shall sun that morrow see!

Your face, my thane, is as a book where men

May read strange matters. To beguile the time,

Look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye,

Your hand, your tongue. Look like th’ innocent flower,

But be the serpent under ’t. He that’s coming

Must be provided for; and you shall put

This night’s great business into my dispatch,

Which shall to all our nights and days to come

Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.

MACBETH

We will speak further

LADY MACBETH

Only look up clear.

To alter favor ever is to fear.

Leave all the rest to me

***

“Unsex Me Here”

***

Why do I hold Lady Macbeth in such high esteem one may ask?

Isn’t it patently obvious?

She is cunning. She is manipulative. She is strong. (Much stronger than her husband)

“Screw your courage to the sticking-place, And we’ll not fail.”

***

She is intelligent.

She is ‘ambition-on-steroids’.

She is resolute.

She is brave.

***

She is Affectionate and Loving.

(Yes! Oh Yes She Is!—To her husband)

***

She is loyal (The whole world of her ambition is her husband)

***

She is broken.

She is madness. (In mind and in deed)

“Out! damned spot! One, two, — why, then ‘tis time to do’t. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? – Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.”

***

She is Beautiful.

She is Beautiful.

She is So Very Beautiful

***

In very many respects, she reminds me of Shonnie.

***

But now she is gone.

“Out, Out Brief Candle”

***

And now for something completely different…

Just a little levity.

‘Tis Good For The Soul.

Street Cred For Vid: Wisecrack

***

Author’s Note (And Two-Cents):

Yes, I know.

Roman Polanski is an Asshole.

So What?

Anyone who ‘reads me’ knows my position on ‘artists’ and art.

If you do not, here is the ‘short’ version:

“I don’t give two cups of warm spit about what they (artists, creators, movie stars, entertainers, et cetera) do off camera, off stage, away from the set, away from the recording booth. Or whatever they choose to do while in their boudoirs.

All I care about is what they create.

Does it enrich my life?

Does it entertain me?

Does it educate me?

Does it make me laugh?

Does it make me cry?

Does it move me?

Or Does It Waste My Time?

These are the only measures of worth I employ.”

***

Anything Else IS A WASTE of my Mental Energy and My Time.

And My Time is the Most Valuable Thing I Own.

Or as we say in Texas (Usually about Land, but it fits even better in this context):

“Time, get all you can.

Keep all you can.

They ain’t making any more of it.”

That door swings both ways:

So, I hope I have NOT wasted YOUR Time.

Cheers,

–Lance

More Two Cents Worth Regarding Art and Artists Here:

Below Please Find The Relevant Text If You Do Not Want To Follow The Link To The Complete Post Above.

***

Now I am cognizant of the fact that there are myriad ‘Madonna Haters’ out there in ‘Radio Land.’

Here is My Philosophy, (Well-Documented in some of my posts) and some advice:

You don’t have to love the ‘artist-person’ to love the art. There are lots of performers I detest because of their off-stage persona or antics, or just piss-poor personality in general.

But… That does not stop me from enjoying and appreciating their art.

I do not give two shits about their politics, arrogance, religion, sexual preferences, et cetera. If their art entertains and enriches my life, I am good with them.

On the other hand, they can be as wonderful and charming as all get out, but if they have no true performance talent, I move on.

Here is the advice part for anyone out there who may need it:

Do not be so narrow and small-minded, and full of your own morality that you prevent yourself from enjoying good art.

***

Want a Second Opinion?

Watch this from Critical Drinker:

That loss is yours.

And yours alone.

Believe me, the artists, the great ones especially, don’t give a shit if you boycott them or not.

Try to remember:

“Life is a Cabaret”

Enjoy it while it lasts. Don’t deny yourself value and enjoyment in your life just because some great performer pisses you off due to their persona while off-stage.

***

Cheers Again!

‘en anglais’

Redundant, but I LOVE Her.

Emma

Henry Fifth (Hank Sank)

Emma Thompson is Charming

Emma_Henry_Fifth

Kate and Hank

Ed. Note: “Foutre” en français: Well, see below.

 “Kate: How do you say le pied (the foot) et la robe (the dress) Alice: The foot (how sounds like foutre which means to fuck) and the clothes  (that she doesn’t pronounce well and sounds like con which means assshole) Kate: Foutez le con? (fuck the asshole?) For God’s sake, this words are horrible, they are mean, indecent and not proper for a lady, I wouldn’t like to pronounce those words in front of the lords of France. Foutez le con???!!! But I least I can recite all that you taught me.”
–From Some Person via YouTube comments.

Well,  Just Google Henry Fifth

Happy Sunday, Y’all!

This is Just Too Good: Henry V

This too (not so much about women)

Not my painful, plainful verbiage,

but …

Derek

What a modern science actor!

(And a really swell guy)

“Lance, there you go again…”

“Sorry! On with the show!”

“Oh for a muse…of fire!”

****************

I love Shakespeare. I love words. I love the simple fact that the only good advice my father once gave to me were the words out of his mouth: “Son, words have meaning and their coinage, well spend them well…”

Now… I am not that too heady. In fact, I am simple. Yet I do still love the coinage of a good phrase. Indeed I do.

Therefore, I leave you this. As all good Bloggers do, I desire a Stage! My Kingdom for a Stage!

Read… and… well…stay tuned.

And Kenneth Branagh At his Best

(Uh Oh! King Harry is pissed off!)

And Even Better

(and here, find the subtle wrath: you don’t wanna be these guys)

And Even More Better: “Once More Unto The Breach!”

And You Gotta Love This Guy: “In Thunder and in Earthquake”

 In my opinion this is Branagh’s finest movie

Henry The Fifth

“A Queendom! A Queendom! My Horse For A Queendom!

This is stupid.

Read it if you have no life.

When I was a young teen, freshly discovering the Joys of Puberty, I had an Ant Farm.

(Early Puberty does strange things to Not quite still Boys, but not quite Yet Men.)

silly ant

Not one of those green and clear plastic toy ant farms. Oh, Hell No. This was hand-crafted and from fine pine two-by-fours. Two panes of 3/8” plate glass measuring thirty by twenty-four inches seated in the painstakingly mitered channels of the wood sandwiched the heavy Plaster of Paris block inside. In which I had meticulously carved all the ant-sized tunnels and oval shaped ‘ante-rooms’ for the ants to place the larvae and store the rations for a winter that would never come. For these were domesticated ants—house ants, if you will—I had willed them such. These tunnels and carved out spaces were painstakingly coated with clean sand using a strong, but non-toxic well-cured epoxy.

It seems I had always been fascinated by ‘every creeping thing… and whatsoever creepeth upon the earth, after their kinds…’ And ants were always at the top of my ‘Creepeth Hit Parade.’ Once I had my initial stock, I spent many a happy hour studying their daily perambulations. I loved them dearly.

“Yes Elizabeth, ‘tis a strange one, this boy…”

Continue reading

I am gonna repost this for two reasons:

It’s a Shakespeare kind of day.

Ok??

One: because I missed Thursday

(Probably because I was in a coma)

Two: because I can.

And here is the bonus:

Because I miss Jimmy ‘Peanut’ Piland.

*****

“I dreamt a dream tonight.”

“And so did I.”

“Well, what was yours?”

“That dreamer’s often lie.”

“…In bed asleep while they do dream things true!”

“Oh! Then I see Queen Mab hath been with you!”

–R&J: Romeo and Mercutio,

Queen Mab:

Ya’ll gotta watch the video “or it all just falls apart” Just saying… (Yes! I feign Texan; it is my wont.)

After a night of hard blogging and writing of drafts, and becoming somewhat disillusioned and more than daft, I perished toward my bed, reaching out for the Arms of Morpheus.

Within moments, I slipped into that nether sleep, that sleep between sleeps, that semi-conscious state of affairs. Sleep, but Not Sleep.

Then I began to dream things that should have been true. But were not true, yet so true.

Wonderful words words words! Words to sate my unnourished prose.

Words swirl’d about in my mind like so many fireflies on a summer’s eve:

““Words, words, words!. Once, I had the gift. I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups of clay. Love that overthrows empires. Love that binds two hearts together, come hellfire & brimstone.”

— “Will Shakespeare in Love”

I had it (them, those) words… goin’ on. Brilliant words. Beautiful, poignant words! All right there! Right there In My Mind. I reached out my finger to tap the “Publish” Mouse.

My finger was frozen.

It would not move.

How hard I did try!

It would not comply!

I lay there in my nether sleep, commanding.

The hand, the one digit, just the finger! Demanding!

Just move the damn finger!

Would not.

Could not.

Then I realized:

I am with Dante now.

And Mercutio is Peanut.

And Peanut was my Mercutio

Yeah, Dante

Dante ‘R’ Us

Christopher Hitchens: On The Suicide of His Mother

This seems to be popular.

Of late.

fuk it.

Perhaps it is just the sign of the seasons….

Maybe we all want to commit suicide.

Relinquish the world back to the roaches.

Surely they could do no worse, management – wise.

The below is transcribed from Hitch’s book “Hitch-22”

Hitch 22 cigs

***

…because most of what I know about manic depression I first learned from Hamlet.

“I have of late,” the Prince of Denmark tells us, “but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth.” Everyone living has occasionally experienced that feeling, but the lines that accompany it are the best definition of the blues that was ever set down. (“Tired of living, scared of dying” is the next-best encapsulation, offered in “Old Man River.”) Who would carry on with the unending tedium and potential misery if they did not think that extinction would even be less desirable or—as it is phrased in another of Hamlet’s mood-swing soliloquies—if “the ever-lasting” had “not set his canon ‘gainst self-slaughter”?

There are fourteen suicides in eight works of Shakespeare, according to Giles Romilly Feddnen’s study of the question, and these include the deliberate and ostensibly noble ones of Romeo and Juliet and of Othello. It’s of interest that only Hamlet’s darling Ophelia, whose death at her own hands is not strictly intentional, it is the object of condemnation by the clergy. My own indifference to religion and refusal to credit any babble about an afterlife has, alas, denied me the hearty satisfaction experienced by Ophelia’s brother Laertes, who whirls on the moralizing cleric to say:

“I tell thee, churlish priest,

A ministering angel shall my sister be,

When thou liest howling.”

Memorable to be sure, but too dependent on the evil and stupidity of the heaven/hell dualism, and of scant use to me in deciding how it was that a thoughtful, loving, cheerful, person like Yvonne, who was in reasonable health, would want to simply give up.

I thought it might have something to do with what the specialists call “anhedonia,” or the sudden inability to derive pleasure from anything, most especially from the pleasurable. Al Alverez, in his very testing and demanding study of the subject, “The Savage God,” returns often to the suicide of Cesare Pavese, who took his own life at the apparent height of his powers.  

Don't stay here

“In the year before he died he turned out two of his best novels… One month before the end he received the Strega Prize, the supreme accolade for an Italian writer. ‘I have never been so much alive as now,’ he wrote, ‘never so young.’ A few days later he was dead. Perhaps the sweetness itself of his creative powers made his innate depression all the harder to bear.”

***

Thank you for reading.

-Lance

(We now return you to our regularly scheduled…)

For Reference:

I love Helena Bonham Carter… Cannot help myself. (This scene is disturbing: do Not Watch)

If You Watch Nothing Else, Please Please PLEASE  Watch This:

Credit: And watch it AGAIN!

Here now (I hope) is the proper credit:

https://www.youtube.com/user/jakuerika