(no subject)

[3pipeproblem]

When you see this on your flist, quote some Shakespeare.

The first thing we do, let's--

Richard loves Richard; that is, I and I.
Is there a murderer here? No. Yes, I am.
Then fly! What, from myself? Great reason why:
Lest I revenge. What, myself upon myself?
Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
O, no! Alas, I rather hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain. Yet I lie. I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well. Fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale,
And every tale condemns me for a villain.

Comments

[bohemian--storm.livejournal.com]

Do you have that memorized?? I just quoted the first line I could remember word for word.

[3pipeproblem.livejournal.com]

No, but I have Clarence's monologue, which is slightly less exciting.

Oh I have passed a miserable night
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights
That as I am a Christian faithful man I would not spend another such a night
Though t'were to buy a world of happy days
So full of dismal terror was the time.

Methoughts that I had broken from the tower
And was embarked to cross to Burgandy
And in my company my brother Gloucester,
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches...

I'm pretty good with the opening, too. And! I love Richard and Anne.

GLOUCESTER
Lady, you know no rules of charity,
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.

LADY ANNE
Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor man:
No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity.

GLOUCESTER
But I know none, and therefore am no beast.

LADY ANNE
O wonderful, when devils tell the truth!

...hahahahaha. No wonder I love Alan.

[bohemian--storm.livejournal.com]

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I have the majority of Hamlet and Twelfth Night memorized.

Hahahaha, I saw William Hurt play Richard a few years ago. He was amazing, but the play itself was SO AWFUL. They tried to modernize it and at the end, some random guys in space suits came out with flamethrowers. It was the biggest 'wtf?' moment I have ever had.

[3pipeproblem.livejournal.com]

...*dies*

Ok, now you have me going through it. This is awesome.

LADY ANNE
He is in heaven, where thou shalt never come.

GLOUCESTER
Let him thank me, that holp to send him thither;
For he was fitter for that place than earth.

LADY ANNE
And thou unfit for any place but hell.

GLOUCESTER
Yes, one place else, if you will hear me name it.

LADY ANNE
Some dungeon.

GLOUCESTER
Your bed-chamber.

[bohemian--storm.livejournal.com]

Haha. Oh, man. I love that play so very much. I've never once seen it done well. Actually, you know what's really sad? The only Shakespeare I've ever seen done well was Hamlet.

With Keanu Reeves. Yeah.

[3pipeproblem.livejournal.com]

Pacino made a movie called Looking For Richard. It doesn't have the whole thing, but it's got a good cast. Kevin Spacey as Buckingham ♥

There's also the Ian McKellan version.

I've seen Hamlet with Campbell Scott! And I like Branagh's! Or did you mean live?

I definitely saw the '80s version of Romeo and Juliet where they were all slapping each other on the ass and wearing tight leather. Freshman year in HS.

[bohemian--storm.livejournal.com]

Oooh, I'll have to look for that.

And I love Branagh's Hamlet, but I'm talking about live. Apparently no one in Manitoba can pull off Shakespeare. It's really sad.

Hahaha, my favourite Shakespeare film version is the really bad Macbeth from the 70s with the naked witches. It's ridiculous.

[3pipeproblem.livejournal.com]

The Polanski one? I saw that. I think my class decided Banquo and Fleance were doing it.

[parelle.livejournal.com]

And I have to admit I much prefer your varriation on the meme.

[3pipeproblem.livejournal.com]

I have to admit it's not really my variation ;)

[queen-kiwi.livejournal.com]

The first one was way too tempting, wasn't it? ;-)

[3pipeproblem.livejournal.com]

0:) Far too tempting.

[dien.livejournal.com]

Alan Shore is, by rights, everything he should hate. Is certainly everything he's never taken to bed (or wanted to): he is not the smooth gym-shaped muscles and young supple skin of this week's too-model boy-fuck. Nor the lean sinew and tattoos and scars and sweet-Irish-cream voices of a twin wet-dream temptation-- the lawyer's not these things. Body soft (as Paul has never been with the severe angles of his clavicles and cheekbones matching the sharp snaps and right-turns of his mind) yet with Alan this is misleading, just another courtroom feint, and the intelligence behind those cloudy, reflection-only eyes is as whiplike as anything Paul's ever found in the Bureau, just subtler, quicker to seek out the crawlspaces down at the edges of conventional thought and slide right through with reptilian grace.

Paul doesn't fuck virgins, either; the men (boys) he meets in bars know the rules and the positions, and in the fever-dreams of Connor/Murphy, often as not they're already on and in each other, nothing virginal about these suspect saints. But Shore's new to the motion of another man's hand at his collar, undoing the dress-shirt buttons (Paul thinks there's almost something half-masturbatory in it, in taking off these smooth pressed silks and wools that make it seem he's undressing himself) of his five-hundred dollar shirt. But yeah, Alan Shore's at least ninety-five percent straight, his clothes and his casual obscenities notwithstanding. Paul thanks the five percent that's allowed him to get Shore here, sitting on the bed, Shore's eyes dark and impossible in the half-light, Scotch still on his breath and lips when Paul tastes them. Mother of God, it's been a while since he had to try seduction, had to go slow and patient and not shove a man's pants down off his ass and dick, but he can't say it's entirely unpleasant. Alan's breathing catches which he can hear, but in the dimness of the room he can't tell if there's uncertainty on Shore's face or not. He doubts it. Alan Shore doesn't strike him as the type to go along out of indecision.

Alan is yielding surface, steel core; Alan is a soft shaky laugh in the darkness and warm hands settling on his hair which Paul almost shakes off but doesn't, his own hands at Alan's hips against the fabric of expensive trousers and equally-expensive fine leather belt, undone, both undone so that Paul can get his mouth at cock and Alan tastes male and clean. No fucking fruit-flavored perfume, no imagined taste of Guinness in the very skin.

Alan's not what he's ever fucked or been fucked by, but Alan's head falls back, throat pale in the darkness, fingers clutching at hair, and Paul thinks there is something to be said for new experiences.