psalm_onethirtyone | "Two Eyes that Shine Like the Moon, but the Clouds Never Let them Come Out..."

Current Mood: blah

"Two Eyes that Shine Like the Moon, but the Clouds Never Let them Come Out..."

...Lillie is getting the Crack! Hamlet musical. The whole thing. How much does this rock? I mean, how much does this utterly totally impossibly win?

*bweeeeeeeeeeees*

So, yes, in other news...!

I am exhausted, and I don't know why, but I am utterly exhausted. I have had no time at all to-day, just as I imagined, but still, that oughtn't be enough, ought it?

I have been forbidden on pain of death to sing Artificial Flowers, especially if I should sing it the way Bobby Darin does. On the other hand, I am no longer forbidden to play the Crack!Hamlet musical; Waen has actually become so fond of some of the songs that she plays them voluntarily, very often.

I have even more things to send, now, but no envelopes or boxes. My collection is failing me rather. I shall have to make a search on Thursday indeed (I shall have no time to-morrow). Mum was going to come with me to work to-morrow, but something came up and she can't. She has been promising that eventually she will since last April; the trouble is that my work is almost exactly like her work, so she already knows what it is, and says it would be rather a busman's holiday. ;_; But I want her to meet my people, especially Anna.

Anna said if I should give her a photograph of myself, she'll give me one of her. ^_________^ Then I could show you--! And I should not ever have to worry about forgetting her. I should not, of course, but I really do like the idea of having a photograph of her. I shall try to find one of myself that's halfway decent.

The socken are upsetting me. I have never been this upset about any of them before. Augh. ;_____________;

I don't think I have the energy to do anything to-morrow, and yet there's more to do to-morrow than to-day. I shall never be free (of course I shall; I'm being very silly). I'm hungry, and I can't think why, although perhaps it's the fact that we had supper at five because of my French class, and it was very light... but still, but still.

Ngg.

I need a fire and a mug of cocoa and my sweater and a book, that's what I need.

Unfortunately, I shall not be getting them.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

exactly. feeling horrible is, like, horatio's thing -- he doesn't need an emo!rosencrantz to help. (but don't feel too sorry for ros, you might over-step yourself.)

heart-literature would be -- but what does the heart read?

... oh, dear?

well, true. But his usual feeling horrible is just that--everyday guilt. This calls for special guilt, and there ros is very helpful. (I don't care--!)

Philosophy in the sky.

...sigh.

it's not something ros would want to be helpful in, usually -- (-- stubborn girl.)

... i once expected the meaning of life to be written somewhere in the clouds ...

'msorry. ;_;

...he's an unwilling benefactor, then. (Terribly)

... i expect it was, once.

Don't be sorry.

-- ros -- well. when he says 'cross' -- he's just being petty, really. he doesn't really want horatio to feel horrible, except for feeling horrible, and maybe to say sorry for being so sorry -- ros isn't the best of thinkers under normal circumstances, we're afraid. (see why you shouldn't feel that sorry for him?)

too bad everyone didn't think to read with their hearts ... !

but -- but --

;___________________; Poor Rosencrantz. (...sorry, Miss Kylee.)

ist! For then we might have kept the cloud-philosophies.

Don't.

poor rosencrantz? poor horatio! he doesn't need ros being all petty-emo at him, even if one of them is dead. (especially, really.) (don't be sorry for me, either.)

ay -- and it's too bad we don't have any libraries for skies --

;_______;

Horatio, as we've said, does everything himself. He doesn't need to endure anything but he put himself in its way. Pah. (I'm sorry at you, is that different?)

or we might have rain to dust the covers.

well, that doesn't make him any less dead, does it -- be quiet, ro -- no, actually, i'll let you have this one. (-- maybe.)

and open up volumes of sunshine to dry them.

Yes, well, it's his own fault! *has been getting a little hysterical over this since it happened, facepalm* I don't care! He brought it on himself, he did, and he's just to get used to the idea, then! (...is?)

...I would it were.

well, of course it's his fault -- ! and i should think it's also the fellow who ran him through with a foil's fault, too -- i should think it's my fault, for not being about to anything -- i should think it's hamlet's fault, and laertes's fault -- and god's fault, for not being about or doing anything -- it's the chapel's fault and the worms' fault and life's fault, death's fault, what does that matter -- ? horatio's not the only one who's got to get used to the idea, is he? and i'm sick to death -- i'm dead tired -- i'm sick and tired of -- ... *hushes him, quietly* we've been getting a little hysterical, too. call it catharsis. (don't be.)

*will make you one, some day~*

It is not your fault! What on earth did you do? Anyway, it doesn't matter, it's too horribly late, and I don't know why we can't just go back and do it over and maybe it is God's fault, but he shouldn't ever believe that, and he shouldn't believe it was Hamlet's fault, or Laertes', or--I don't even believe he should think it Fortinbras', and that's what he ought to think...! He's learning to get used to it, but-- Oh, I just--! *bursts into tears again* (yes.)

*ohhh, should find it magic marvellous!*

ros: ;______; *is sorry for yelling at you* *saw tiny little green apples today, a bit like your red ones, and the typist wouldn't let him pick them because they were on someone else's property -- but this is the internet, so you would you like one, anyway? they're the best sort of green, bright bright green, and terribly pretty ...*

*finds you magic marvellous, so it's a fair trade, really*

*is veryvery sorry back* *ohhh, they sound wonderful-- oh, oh, oh. and wouldst thou like an asian pear?*

*...silly*

ros: *is that one of those apples that pretend to be pears, then -- or one of those pears that pretend to be apples. is quite fond of those -- thanks you -- ! :D :D*

*unbearably silly, but in love, so that makes up for it*

yes! Yes, that's quite what it is-- you're welcome. ^__^

*dramatically, we're sure...! loves and curls up next to*

ros: and they're awfully nice apple-pears, aren't they, for acting so deceptive -- perhaps they're only confused. i would be, too, if i were an apple-pear ... but then, i've been a person so long, i expect i should ... shouldn't i? but thank you, miss. *kisses your hand, and is grinning his ridiculous grin -- no more weak half-smiles -- !* it's awfully nice.

*lovesmore, and glomps, so she can rest her chin in your hair*

Oh, very nice! and they have that funny sweet taste and feel so interesting outside...! They look rather like kiwifruit, sometimes, and that must be even more confusing-- *hugs squishily* You're awfully nice.

*eees quietly and is content ever*

ros: perhaps that's how i got to be so fond of them -- it's a bit comforting, isn't it, to know a fruit every bit as confused as you are -- ! and -- oh. *blushes a bit, and grins* oh, you're awfully nice to say so, miss.

*is content to have you so~*

Oh--! That could be, couldn't it? Of course, I should think the regular apples would be even more confused than the Asian pears--there are so many sorts, aren't there? quite everywhere. I shouldn't be able to tell some of them apart, and I wonder they don't get all mixed. But that's silly, isn't it? --ee. Oh, no, I should be a dreadful girl if I didn't say so...!

*shall be glad for-ever, then, except for getting to roll down a hill with you*

ros: -- is that why i like apples, too, do you think -- ? i wonder if they can tell themselves apart, or if they even mind so much -- if i were an apple, i wouldn't mind so much. but then, i'm not an apple -- am i? *blushes a bit more, and beams (a bit more)* oh, but you're not dreadful at all, are you? you couldn't be, i don't think -- you could say whatever you like, and not be dreadful, at all. well, not whatever you like, i suppose ... but you could not say whatever you don't like ... ?

*and then, will be positively gleeful*

Well-- it might be, mightn't it? I mean-- apples mustn't mind things much at all, for they don't seem to mind being eaten-- you don't look like an apple. I think. *beams back* But I am rather dreadful, I'm afraid. Not too much, but certainly enough, I think. I am afraid I often too say whatever I like.

*ah, the joyful life-- utterly unexamined*

ros: well, i shouldn't like to be eaten, i suppose -- or at least. not by just anyone -- ! *innocent, innocent* and you've not been very dreadful to me, i don't think -- unless you've been hiding it. have you been hiding it ... ?

*socrates would be mystified*

*giggles and claps* Oh, who should you not mind being eaten by, if you were an apple? --Well, I hope I haven't, for you are too good to be dreadful to! I'm not so good at hiding, though, so I am sure I haven't be--

*yes, well, Socrates is the least of our cares--- amo te, amo te*

ros: well, i suppose guildenstern should rather like apples, shouldn't he -- and i should hate for him to go hungry when i'm about, even if i am only an apple -- ! especially, i suppose, because -- well -- if an apple lets you go hungry, it really isn't much of an apple, is it? if i were apple cider, though, i should like horatio to drink me, i think ... or if i were hot chocolate. does horatio much like hot chocoloate? *and laughs, beams, glomps* well, then, you're not dreadful, are you? or at least, not dreadful to me.

*je t'adore, je t'adore~*

"Two Eyes that Shine Like the Moon, but the Clouds Never Let them Come Out..."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)