I was looking at a post from Kate, in which she suggests that ‘life is no different from acting on a stage’, and I thought it begged for a Shakespearean reference.
For whatever reason I started thinking about Marcel Marceau and how sad, to me, he always looked. It seemed that people that don’t talk much give the impression of covering something up. I don’t talk much myself, to be honest.
The curtain opens, I must show The only face you’ll ever know Clasped lips that hold the truth inside A costume that can barely hide The scars, the buried injuries The nightmares. Bitter memories No role here for the truth to play The audience must have it’s way The actor, he must always act Absorb the laughter, not react Mimed emotion. Hidden pain Tomorrow do it all again For all the world’s a stage, you see Come watch my comic tragedy
I have never been a great fan of Shakespeare, to be honest, thinking him to be something of a hack, but a lot of his words were planted within me during an almost forgotten education. If I had to pick a favourite quote, though, it would be, ‘As flies to wanton boysare we to the gods; they kill us for their sport’.
In a long ago production of King Lear, by the way, I was (type?) cast as ‘The Fool’. I jest you not.
The above is a question that constantly plagues me. I am not alone in that regard, of course. The best answer I have come up with so far is ‘probably nothing much’ which seems a little bit unsatisfactory. Even if we accept life as entirely without meaning it remains difficult to shrug off the impression that, for some reason, it should mean something.
Anyway, I spotted a post from my buddy, Cyranny, that suggested the human act of breathing in and breathing out was sufficient for getting one through to another day. That might be right, I suppose, but it is notion that, likewise, struck me as being a little bit unsatisfactory.
It occurred to me though, that if two humans were involved …together … just breathing in and out … together … then just maybe, somehow it might all be worthwhile.
So this is what I wrote …
Our beating hearts, our inhalation
Beating faster. Perspiration
Skin to skin. Sweet expectation
No spoken words. Negotiation
Two souls entwined, let no-one sever
Moments pass that last forever
Just breathing in and breathing out
And that’s what life is all about.
I’m not really trying to say very much. Because there’s really not very much to say.
This is supposed to be 87 words. I cheated a bit. But THE and END are both words and I seem to remember them featuring at the completion of those magical movies of my youth. So they sort of belong here.
This is for a prompt from Sammi (#230 …. so I’ve only missed 228 thus far) … to be found here