#101 … considering Yorick’s greetings …

IMG_0001He and She, our volunteered docents here at the Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture, have returned following last years “stress”.  They are romantic and absurd, or (with some humor), absurdists grasping for that “romantic” ideal, ( the mainspring of their “stress” [?] ). All the while youngsters play, acquire skills; practicing with material portents of their own demise.

As this year begins, Yorick, has usurped the “greeter” role (a common occupation for the aging types), validating an anachronistic medieval jester’s anarchical behavior: loopy banderoles leak from his exoskeleton ( his soul … venting [?] ).

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Containing the wit and wisdom of a half-millenium of experience, Yorick is given to pondering: arthritis remains  whilst spewing and scribbling (a singular complaint living as a jumble of bones) however, poetic intellect enjoys the leanness, the empty aura of all flesh.

As with so many others who ponder and spout, ponder and scribble; Yorick is incomprehensible to those still fleshed out – and trapped in – glandular, hormonal, and sensory tangles, hours, minutes, and who “verily doest much stress”.

Riddles and romance poems were the joy of his bawdy troubadour youth, little valued in this age of cynical utility. With that joy, Yorick is modernizing love-poem riddles as an entrance challenge to the tent. Riddled words about common (sometimes loved) things.

You know what this is… just try…

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