The tent holding The Temporary Museum of Enfant Terrible Culture is besot by hot emoting inside and hostile winter outside: it is inhumane to be ejected… but a good place for a resurrected fictional character to consider major and minor thoughts.

This ain’t heaven, sitting outside the tent fleshless on a discarded theatrical throne. Thrown between sleet-waves and fire flavored with the faint smell of brimstone, Yorick collapses his bones into the dramatic prop’s regal support, to consider heaven and hell.

Heaven and Hell – eternal places formalized – – express the opinion of many, but not Yorick. Centuries on the boards performing for rabble and royals leaves a different set of thoughts, more in keeping with the commoners small-case hell or heaven, particulars of the cruelty of this age; alas, nobility and suffering achieved through glitz and whining. The young and fleshed-out have heavenly enjoyments of events – the heated carousing, soon losing warmth to the cold entombment of experience – the afflictions of iced memory.

Skill, or just dumb luck for the emotive types here assembled keeps them in artist’s heaven – some recognition – if only in ghostly shades. Historical happenstance prevented being one of the swallowed, the rotted, baked or frozen – the unreturnables – the fate of most artistic emotives … a cold friendless hell. 

So elevated pompous accoutrements become what heaven there may be, when one’s back is to the frozen wind and feet in the fire. Or so Yorick considers.