Recast Alles in Darkness

Dear Q.,

As we know that the eye follows the moving object, it is strange that you should find my nature at all, let alone its indexable contents, such as conflict, about which I haven't told you nearly enough. Judging this matter of my conflictual nature from the depths of my uncle's moderately comfortable throne, I cannot see the future allowing me any significant form of retreat. These letters give me a rare snippet of meditation. Beyond that, I still have my research. Over the past several days, I consulted many of the haruspex tomes lining Polonius' library. Using bibliomancy, I found myself elliciting images of military distinction, emblems and harolds sparkling my chest. I was alarmed. I should not like to spill any gore, as anyone can tell - certainly not in those heathen places such as the slopes and fields of war. Perhaps you are right. I should keep my palms well-away from the half-cracked sword left me by my father, and make hasty retreat. Plus, as you suggest, war would not be good for my health.

But retreat to where? I can admire your travels only at a distance, and imagine that you spend much of your time stopping with a notebook, preparing future compositions, deliverable directly to Denmark. This brings you closer to me, I think, although all news of a girl ultimately sends you farther away then ever - especially when you assure me you may never see her again. Do try and penetrate the meaning of some of this note. Your steps have already retraced you to this girl and retraced her countless times in the theatre of my mind. Don't be afraid of irritating me further by implanting me with these disadvantageous images of fecund women and their moist gardens, at least so long as you remain my most loyal and realisitic friend. Your taste for subdued description provides me with soothing pigment in this merely decorative world of sooty iron and modern brick. You own the pretty brightness of appearances, whereas commissions of darkness never stop ripening my internalized interpretations of my ongoing family romance here in our vain little castle.

But of that, anon! I promise. I am watching my health, as you say, and keep constantly on the lookout for malice. I now return to rest and set about predicting where you might be landing next.

Yours,


Hamlet